


Luscious

by gryffindorcutie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Smut, F/M, Forbidden Love, Hate to Love, Heavy Angst, Love/Hate, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, Lucius Malfoy-centric, Lust, Malfoy Manor, Minor Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Mudblood, Mudblood/Pureblood Relationship, Muggleborn Reader, Mutual Pining, Post-Hogwarts, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 111,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26031700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindorcutie/pseuds/gryffindorcutie
Summary: Lucius was not like the other students at Hogwarts who could go around pretending as if nothing mattered.  As quidditch captain, Head Boy, and sole heir of the Malfoys, he was destined to bring his family honor and glory.You weren’t part of that plan.Or, a filthy mudblood catches the attention of the Slytherin Prince.
Relationships: Lucius Malfoy & Reader, Lucius Malfoy & You, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), Lucius Malfoy/Reader
Comments: 681
Kudos: 600





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I gave "You" a name because I couldn't bring myself to type "Y/N" over and over. 😤. Also this is an AU in which Voldemort does *not* exist, but the Purebloods are still in an elitist society that hates all the same things: muggles, mudbloods, the joy of others, etc. Lol
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!! <3

  


**It all came down to a matter of strength.** Lucius was a Malfoy, and the Malfoys were known to be the best in everything they did. This truly included _everything_ : the size of their estate, the rankings of their accomplishments, and in their social status. Their family was the top of society of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pureblood families.

So naturally, his father had taught him to _be_ strength. To rid himself of weakness. Weakness was a chip in the armor that could not be allowed. If you had a chip in your armor, one wrong strike and the whole thing would shatter.

Lucius was strong, because he was a Malfoy. He held the Malfoy family values above all else.

He was smart. He studied more than anyone he knew. He never let a professor catch him without a correct answer. He learned to read ahead in his textbooks and pore over additional resources in the library. After all, a Malfoy should be the top student of their class, if not the entire school.

He was physically fit. He worked out daily to be the best on the quidditch team. Practice was only three times a week after school. Lucius did his own workouts twice daily on top of that. After all, if a Malfoy did something, they did it wholly. Second best wasn’t enough. He had been the obvious choice for captain, and _his_ team went undefeated.

He was also known to the entire school, as the Slytherin Prince. His peers looked to him as a role model, and they imitated him and obeyed him. The most important value of the Malfoy family was this: a Malfoy kept only the best company.

It had been clear from a young age who was suited to be his friend and who wasn’t. See, his father had told him that his peers reflected on his character. His character reflected on his family. Poor, lowly born mudbloods and blood traitors were desperate to overthrow the power of the purebloods. The power that seeped into politics and the very shape of society. The power of money and family and loyalty.

He was not permitted to associate with anyone who would lower his status.

There were rankings of company to be kept. Purebloods ranked highest. Then mixed-blood wizards who served pureblood families. That’s where the line ended.

The rankings of company not to be kept was longer: Muggles, Blood traitors, Mixed blood mutts who preached equality, and the worst of all- _mudbloods._ It seemed logical, and he never dared question it. His father was the most brilliant man he knew. He one day would be just as powerful as his father and then he would take over the Malfoy household.

Lucius was not like the other students at Hogwarts who could go around pretending as if none of those things mattered. He was destined to bring his family honor and glory.

 _You_ weren’t part of that plan.

You had learned the hard way that being the first and only magical born person in your family was _not_ something worth bragging about. Not at Hogwarts or at home.

You learned from a young age not to get all emotional about it.

It was more than your sibling’s jealousy of you being sent to a fancy boarding school in a castle while they had to endure public school in a poor neighborhood.

It was also the slight panicked look in your dear mother’s eyes when you first did magic. The look that told you she would never see you the same way.

Your mother had been worried that she was hallucinating your teddy bear flying around. You knew that she hadn’t been thrilled to learn that you were some kind of freak.

Then the letter came. Your mother worried that some pervert had been watching you, trying to kidnap you and steal you away by telling you there was a school for your freakish abilities. When McGonagall showed up on your doorstep, her fears were increased twofold: who was this freakish woman? And if you went with her, what sort of freakish things would you come home knowing how to do?

Magic had been both a blessing and a curse. When you were eleven years old you learned of a whole other world hidden from the sight of muggles, and you also lost your ability to relate to your family.

The kids at school had been mostly nice, but some had a problem with your muggle parents, as if you were a mutt in some thoroughbred pony show. You had been sorted into Hufflepuff, though the hat had wanted to put you in Slytherin.

It had told you that you had the ambition and drive for success like a Slytherin, but you valued hard work and fair play more. You told the hat that Hufflepuff sounded better based on the name alone.

You were sure you dodged a bullet when you had your first class with Slytherins. They were snooty, mean, rich kids who never seemed to smile. By the end of first year you had been hexed at least three times by a group of Slytherin girls. They taunted you for being a mudblood.

You didn’t understand it. You had just been born that way, into a muggle family. It wasn’t like you sat around in the spirit world before picking your parents to give you life, cackling maniacally at the opportunity to spoil the fun of some stuck up rich kids at your new boarding school. You never snitched, but it satisfied you greatly whenever they got points taken away.

As hard as they tried, they never won the house cup. You supposed it was the one thing money couldn’t buy.

They were all sickeningly wealthy. But only one was beautiful, making his cruelty even more tragic. Lucius Malfoy. Though, he didn’t seem to be aware of your existence- which was probably a good thing.

You admitted to yourself that he intrigued you. A boy who seemed above everything. A boy who was always in the library, alone. He ran the grounds at nightfall, alone. Sometimes he was surrounded by his housemates in the Great Hall or in the hallways and he still looked entirely alone.

One day he caught you staring, his icy blue eyes boring into yours. He sneered at you but he didn’t look away. Until you smiled at him.

You had your own friends in your house that assured you that not all witches and wizards thought that muggleborns were scum. The Hufflepuffs were a fun group to belong to, and the common room was the most peaceful place you had ever seen. It was your favorite spot in the castle, second only to the library.

You had always loved books. You were someone who enjoyed your solitude, content with spending an afternoon curled up with a good book. You loved everything fictional and non-fictional. You had probably read more than anyone you had ever known.

It was Madam Wiggins, the librarian, who suggested you consider a career in archives after Hogwarts. You hadn’t considered the possibility, but you supposed that magical books and artifacts would be fascinating to learn about. It wasn’t as if you could just take some desk job in the muggle world, knowing what you did now.

Thus, in your last year at Hogwarts, you had finally settled on a career path. Wiggins had been happy to let you stay as late as you like, organizing sections and learning about charms and wards that were used in the library.

It wasn’t only magical literature that held your attention, though. Your old muggle friends wrote to you, sending books back and forth. You became fascinated with the classics, the poets, the romantics of the past century. You also studied art and architecture. You were determined to absorb as much as you could.

While practical magic was useful to learn in class, you dreamed of a life full of artwork and drama. You weren’t afraid of being poor because of a job you would be passionate about. You had been poor your whole life, anyway. Your thirst for knowledge was insatiable. That’s why you were always in the library, after all.

And that’s how you met him for the first time.

You had thought you were alone in this corner of the library but as you stood to place your Charms book back on the shelf, a large pale hand was reaching for it’s spine.

Before you could say anything, a flash of long platinum hair and a broad, tall boy was walking away. He sat at a large table across the aisle. Even with no one around, he sat with good posture.

You couldn’t help but admire his impossibly blonde and silky hair and his stern face. His full lips pressed into a hard line as he focused on the book. He stilled suddenly, as if sensing you watching him.

When you turn back to your homework, you realize the mistake you’ve made. You still needed the book you just put back for the next question. The one that was now being used by Lucius Malfoy.

You decide to work on the next problem after that, and finish all the rest. You still need that book, and he still has it.

You glance over at him, noticing that the book is sitting closed. At least he wasn’t using it, so he shouldn’t mind you asking for it. You were afraid to know what happened when someone inconvenienced the Slytherin Prince. He shouldn’t care, you decide, because he likely has a signed, first edition copy of his own in his dorm. Why he always used the library was a mystery to you.

After rehearsing it several times in your head, you think you know what to say to him. You stand up, your chair scraping loudly in the quiet room. He glances up at you, and then it’s awkward. Because he’s seen you before you were ready.

You smooth your skirt and walk up to him. He watches you with a blank stare the whole way, and it makes you want to hide under a table or pull on your sweater, or something. But you don’t.

“Er, Hi. Mind if I take this back?” Your eyes go to the book. It's on your side of the table, and you _could_ just take it back if you wanted to. But you were raised to be polite and kind.

He says nothing, eyeing you from head to toe. When he meets your eyes again, he has a look about him as if he’s just had an insect start speaking to him. It was a look of disgust with a hint of something else. Curiosity? No, you doubt that.

You just want to finish your homework, though, so you reach for the book. His gaze never leaves your face, but when you look down to the book, his pale hand is openly staking its claim on its cover.

“I do.” He says simply. His voice is deeper than you expected for someone with such a long, silky mane of hair.

You frown at him. “Are you using it? This is the only copy.”

“No.” He answers your question, turning back to his parchment.

You continue to stand there and wonder for a moment what would happen if you strangled the Head Boy. After inhaling and counting to five, you calm yourself.

“Sorry, maybe we got off on the wrong foot, I’m Estella Hyde. We have Advanced Charms together. I have one question left on our assignment, so-”

“No.”

You want to react, to snap back, but you reign it in. You lived by the old saying, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

His icy blue eyes flash with some kind of strange delight as he watches you fume silently. He arches a perfectly full eyebrow at you in challenge, as if questioning why you’re still standing there.

It’s almost as if he’s _daring_ you to ask again.

“Please?” You feel so ridiculous, begging him for a library book he isn’t even using. You try not to scowl at him.

His face betrays nothing. He gestures to the chair for you to sit and use the book in front of him, as if he doesn’t trust you to give it back.

You huff, flipping the book open to the section you needed. You found the answer in less than a minute and write it on your parchment. Now your homework is finished, and you can curl up with a good book in your dorm by the fireplace. Sneaking a glance at Lucius, you’re devastated that he’s even better looking up close.

He’s all square jawed and full-lipped with impossibly long lashes over his icy blue eyes. His face is symmetrical. Perfect. Just as perfect as the snowy blonde hair that falls onto his broad, muscular shoulders. You have to tear your gaze away, and it helps to remember how much of a jerk he is.

You stand to leave, and slide the book back to him silently. He doesn’t acknowledge you. You fold your parchment neatly and place everything in your bag. You turn to leave without another word, when he says.

“Forgetting something?” His deep voice seems to caress your skin with his words.

“Sorry?”

“It’s customary to _thank someone_ when they do a favor for you.” He said, piercing through you with his cold, calculative, _dreamy_ eyes. His tone was as if he were talking to an ignorant child, and it’s like someone poured ice water on you.

_How dare he talk to you that way?_

You roll your eyes at him. He must think himself akin to a benevolent god. You should just oblige him anyway, if only to end this conversation faster. “Thanks.”

But you can’t help yourself, and you continue, “For lending me a book that you weren’t using, which _actually_ belongs to the library. What, did mommy and daddy never teach you to share, Malfoy?”

There it is again, that flash of interest or curiosity in his gaze, this time accompanied with a scowl. “Etiquette is extended only to those deserving, _mudblood._ ”

Oooohooohoooo! Mudblood. Like you’d never been called that before. You smirk. He was easy to rile up, wasn’t he? “Oh, right, I forgot I was in the presence of the Slytherin Prince. _Excuuuuse_ me, your grace.” You mock him with an exaggerated bow and an eye roll.

“You’re excused.” He says. His face is impassive but there’s that glint again. You could swear the corner of his lip twitched upwards.

You turn and leave without another word. You clench your fists to stop yourself from making a rude gesture at him.

He isn’t worth your time.

But now when you see him in the Library, your blood boils. The way he sits with good posture and practically claims an entire table for himself by scattering his things over it. He doesn’t own that table. You could even sit at that table and he couldn’t do anything about it. But suddenly the library feels less peaceful. He’s ruined your sanctuary.

Just his _presence_ unsettles you.

And it’s like you can’t escape him. His pale blue eyes finding yours in Charms class, breaking your focus.

You are both invited to the final Slug Club meeting, and you openly see the disdain on his face when you describe your parents. His date snickers unkindly as you talk about their line of work.

You ignore them, speaking confidently and elegantly despite the rude laughter. You were going to make something of yourself after school, while those idiots sat at home upon a large fortune and led miserable lives married to their cousins.

Years ago, you would have shut down in self-loathing when one of them laughed at you, but you were nearly graduated, and their opinions meant nothing to you anymore.

When you finish speaking, you see him watching you. Was that look… intrigue? You’re probably reading too much into it.

It’s almost the end of term, and suddenly the library is the most popular place on campus. Almost all the tables are full of students trying to cram information last minute.

It’s mildly irritating, but you start arriving earlier to stake claim in your usual spot.

Lucius is there in the Library before you, and he sits at _your_ table. In the seat across from _your_ chair.

Why he is there is anyone’s guess. You assume he probably expects you to be less distracting than any assortment of random students that could have joined him at his table. Yours was much smaller than the one he usually used, a small two person table in an alcove by the window.

He’s a distraction from your studies, even if neither of you say a word. Because he’s so tall and fit. It’s like watching a roman statue study. A work of art, skin carved from marble. You only steal small glances, never letting him catch you.

You have a stack of books for all your classes. As you finish with each, you place them on the other side of your table, in a neat stack you will return later.

When Lucius begins to take from this pile, your eyes meet his, but you say nothing.

You tell yourself it’s because _you_ were taught how to share, but it’s probably the way the sunlight hit his pale blue eyes and shiny blonde hair as he looked up at you. He shouldn’t be allowed to be so dazzling.

His gaze sends a shiver to your core, and you hate yourself for finding him attractive. At the same time, just having him look at you is a thrill, because he doesn’t give his attention to many people. Even in his own circle.

It’s a horrible thought, but you decide you know just how to keep his attention.

The last book in your stack is the only copy of the Advanced Charms book in circulation that day. The same book that you had your little standoff over just a few months before.

A terrible, un-Hufflepuff-like thought crosses your mind.

You finish your review with the book. When you look up, you find him watching you expectantly, with his hand held out arrogantly for the book.

You look him straight in the eye as you turn back to the first page of the book.

He exhales sharply, and you want to do a victory dance. You do a good enough job of hiding your smirk by holding the book over your mouth.

He clears his throat. You keep reading the first chapter. The information wouldn’t even be on your exams. He clears his throat a second time.

“Would you like a throat lozenge, Malfoy?” You ask innocently, looking up at him.

It shouldn’t be possible for blue eyes to look so cold and evil, but he looks positively murderous. It makes you want to laugh.

You take your sweet time and enjoy his frustration. Or maybe you just enjoy those icy blue eyes on you and the sexy way his jaw clenches in anger.

You finish reading the first chapter a half hour later. It was only five pages, with large pictures. You turn to the second chapter.

“Will. You. Hurry? I have somewhere to be.” He snaps from across the table.

You barely hold back a chuckle. Barely.

Raising an eyebrow at him, you smile at him. “No.”

He exhales, posture going rigid. He looks down at the book and then back to you. It shouldn’t be so attractive the way his nose scrunches and a line appears between his eyebrows as he studies you.

“You will not need information from the _second chapter_ for the exam, The professor said himself its not a full rev-”

“No.” You finish the page, delighting at his hand balling into a fist in your peripheral vision.

It finally happens a few minutes later when he sees that you won’t budge. He gets up to leave. He would rather miss a day of studying Charms than beg _you_ , a mudblood- for a book.

“You will pay for this.” he hisses in frustration.

You look him dead in the eyes, and tell him in the most bored tone you could manage. “Looking forward to it, Malfoy.”

He stands over you intimidatingly for a moment and his eyes scan you with that mysterious glint that you can’t place. He glares at you as he slings his fancy black book bag over his shoulder and leaves. You finally allow yourself to laugh as you flick your wand, sending the books back to the shelf.

But you’re a little shaken. He had been standing over you and all you could think about in that moment was how his full lips would feel against yours.

You scoff. You need to get your head out of the clouds. Lucius would _never_ see you that way.

He would make you pay? What a joke. When school was over in the next week, you probably wouldn’t ever see him again.

You were right. And it disappointed you. For five years you studied at university and took on work as an archivist. And you didn’t see him. You trained under the best in the business. You loved your job. You got to see some of the rarest documents and magical objects in existence- though you were always held to a non-disclosure agreement. And you didn’t see him.

You often preserved and reinforced old books and offered instruction for the care of artwork. You were an expert in charms and wards for your line of work. Still no sign of him.

It wasn’t long before you became highly sought after. Your name circulated frequently through the homes of the rich and affluent. They never asked about your blood purity, though they could probably assume it. Nothing. He was never anywhere you went.

You had been hired by several former Slytherin classmates. It seemed they had forgotten that they had bullied you over your blood status. As long as you were getting paid, you didn’t care. The past was behind you. So why were you still hoping, when you would go over to their homes on assignment, that Lucius would be there. That he would be in the parlor for tea. Or on the lawn smoking a pipe with one of the husbands of your former classmates. He had become a faded memory, but you always wondered what had happened to him after Hogwarts.

And then your office receives an invitation for an assignment within the library at the Malfoy manor. Despite your better judgement, you can’t help yourself. You accept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to @Alma_Rohe, one of my most amazing readers, for the story inspiration!!! I hope you liked it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after five years you go on a work assignment to the Malfoy Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also as "reader" you obviously can have any hair/skin/eye color you want. pics are purely for aesthetic.

  


art of Lucius by @bluemist72 on deviantart.

**The Malfoy Manor had been aptly described to you as _massive_.** It was in fact, not what you would call a normal mansion or manor house. In your professional opinion, the Malfoy Manor could more accurately be called the Malfoy Palace. It was the biggest property you had ever seen, with several _hundred_ acres of estate surrounding it. If one wanted to be very precise, they could describe the Malfoy family estate as it’s own city.

A small thrill runs through you as you look up at the massive home, standing a few miles back before a large stone and iron gate. Lucius lives here. This is it. It’s been five years, and today you would finally see him again.

You wondered if he had married. Perhaps there were little blonde toddlers running around the grounds somewhere. Or maybe he had gotten a bit pudgy and ugly after school. Maybe he had a receding hairline or an ugly mustache. You doubted it, but it amused you to imagine him that way. Either way, you were at your height of curiosity, and you couldn’t wait to find out.

You take a moment to straighten your little black dress. You’re wearing simple heels, and minimal makeup. Your outfit is professional and flattering. Simple, but elegant.

Not _overtly_ sexy, but snug enough in the right places to say _eat your heart out, rich boy_.

You are ten minutes early, not just because you are a professional, but also because you know that any slight mistake and he would have a reason to berate you.

A loud pop noise draws your attention lower to the ground, where a small house-elf has apparated on the other side of the gate.

“Hello, Miss. You are to see Mr. Malfoy, yes?”

You nod. “Yes I am.”

“I will be checking your identification now, miss.”

You reach into your bag and present your ID card. His large eyes squint as he reads

He snaps his fingers and the gate opens. You step through, and walk towards the elf.

“You will be coming with me, miss.”

For a moment you regret your choice in footwear as you look ahead to the dirt road stretched out in front of you, but then the elf holds out its hand and apparates you in front of the massive double doors.

“Dobby welcomes you, miss, to the Malfoy Manor. He will be showing you to the master’s office now.”

“Why thank you, Dobby.” You smile kindly at the elf.

His eyes are massive and wide, shaking his head furiously. “Oh no. There is no need to be thanking me, miss. Dobby must serve his master.”

Oh dear. He was one of the fussy ones that tended to ramble. You want to put him out of his discomfort before this gets out of hand. The clock was ticking, after all.

“Don’t worry, Dobby. Where to? I believe Mr. Malfoy expects to see me at one, sharp.”

He seems grateful for the distraction. “Oh, yes! Best not keep master waiting.”

 _Master._ You hated that term. You believed that house-elves deserved rights and pay for their hard work.

They were the reason that estates such as these were well maintained and so beautiful to look at, after all. And yet, they were bound to serve wealthy families like the Malfoys. From the disdain Lucius had shown mudbloods, you could guess his house elves were treated like slaves.

Dobby leads you through the grand entrance where there is a fountain at the foot of the double staircase. Light shines ahead from massive stained glass windows onto the wide, carpeted hallway Dobby leads you down.

He knocks four times on a closed, elaborately carved wooden door while you quickly scan the paintings and sculptures in the hallway around you.

Surely the square of carpet you stand on is worth more than the contents of your entire flat.

You weren’t doing too badly, either. You had begun a collection of items discarded by the families you helped. Some were items seen as garbage in your client’s eyes. Some were gifts.

Your flat wasn’t enormous, but you were well off. Your favorite part was one you had been working on for the past five years. Your library. Books were covering every square inch of wall in your living room from floor to ceiling. You probably had more than you would ever have time to read, now that you worked the hours you did.

“Come in.” the deep voice snaps you back to reality.

Dobby opens the door for you, and damn it. He takes your breath away.

He hasn’t bothered to look up from his desk, and you take the moment to take it all in.

His hair is longer than before. He is dressed sharply in a black suit with _leather_ trim. The darkness of his suit emphasizes his pale, porcelain skin. His jaw and cheekbones are more prominent than ever. And even though he is seated, you just know from the way he fills out his perfectly tailored suit that he hasn’t missed a day of working out since… probably the day you both graduated.

“Take a seat, Miss Hyde.” He says, and he still hasn’t looked up.

You are almost delighted at this. That his arrogance has given you the upper hand. That you will get to witness _his_ shock, rather than him getting to seeing how you had practically eye-fucked him just a moment ago.

He sits up straight, with no hint of a slouch. Some things never change.

You don’t linger in the doorway. You walk across the marble floor, heels echoing until they are muffled by a plush rug. You take a seat across from him, crossing one ankle behind the other. You keep your back straight and your face neutral.

And then he finishes writing and looks up. And he sees you.

It’s barely a movement, but his eyebrows lift a miniscule push upwards as he looks up at you. He ceases his writing, dropping his quill at the side of the parchment.

Your core stirs as he penetrates you with his impossibly pale blue eyes. You take advantage of the moment to speak.

“Hello, Mr. Malfoy.”

His eyes flicker back up to your face, pausing briefly just below your eyes. Then, he narrows his eyes at you.

And you know that he recognizes you, because he immediately replies:

“No.”

You fight the urge to smirk or look too happy at his open disdain.

“I beg your pardon?” Your voice is remarkably calm and innocent sounding.

“There’s surely been a mistake.” He says, eyes never leaving yours.

“Oh?” You play dumb. “How so?” You know exactly what he means. The mistake is that he’s accidentally hired a mudblood.

His eyes bore into yours, and your lip betrays you with a twitch upwards.

“I hired…” He stands abruptly, and while his back is turned you take advantage of the moment to admire his well-filled muscular figure. It’s a shame he was wearing so many layers.

You scold yourself on your wayward thoughts. You had a client to win over.

You pick up where he left off. “Estella Hyde, executive archivist of the Ancient Archives Association? Pleased to make your acquaintance.” You smile, and it’s only a little bit smug.

He turns around and walks slowly around to the front of his desk, standing in front of you. Your heart pounds with anticipation of what he will do next. He leans back against the edge of his desk. He looks you over from head to toe again. “No.”

You simply arch an eyebrow “You didn’t hire me?”

His lips form a hard line. “No, I didn’t know that I was hiring…”

“The best in the business? The highest recommended archivist in the UK? An expert?” You offer, since he seems at such a loss for words.

His eyes snap up from the floor to your face again. “No. A _mudblood_ ”

“Elegantly put, Mr. Malfoy.” You nod in acknowledgement. It had only taken him three tries. Quite straightforward.

“Dobby will show you the way out.” His body language is open, but his hands on either side of him grip the desk tightly.

Five years later and he was still wound up so tightly. A naughty part of your mind can’t help but think that someone should _really_ do something about that. Stress can kill, you know? His left hand is ringless, but you can’t help but wonder which wealthy socialite he’s involved with. There’s no way that this man is single. He’s too wealthy. Too good looking.

Dobby appears, and you stand up gracefully, not letting any emotion pass over your features. Even leaning back against the desk, Lucius towers over you. In your four inch heels.

Your heart beats a strange, uneven rhythm as you notice how he’s grown even taller than he was in Hogwarts. It doesn’t help at all that now that you are on your feet and now you two stand only a foot apart, if even only for a moment. It was likely the closest the two of you have ever been in proximity, or ever would be. You smile kindly at him before turning your back to him. You swear you hear him draw in a breath, but you ignore it.

You have an act to play, after all.

“My mistake,” You mutter just barely loud enough for him to hear as you walk towards the door.

You are one, two, three steps away from him when he takes the bait.

“ _What_ is your mistake?” He sneers, clearly displeased he is even still speaking to you.

You turn, as if surprised he had heard you. “Oh, nothing.” You smile. You turn to Dobby again as if you will leave without answering.

When you reach the doorway, you pause. “I was under the impression that the Malfoys only hired the best.” You shrug your shoulders at him, and his nose scrunches at you. “It seems I was mistaken. Anyway, I’ll leave you to it. Have a nice afternoon, Mr. Malfoy”

You smile as if he wasn’t giving you a soul-shattering icy stare.

His footsteps follow you out the door, and suddenly he’s grabbing your wrist and spinning you around.

Part of the fire in his eyes thrills you, and the other part completely terrifies you. Before he says another word, his eyes follow yours to your wrist, which is still firmly in his grasp.

The touch of his fingertips sends shivers up your arms.

His gaze hardens and he drops your wrist abruptly. “You will not dare speak against me or this household ever again. Do. You. Understand?”

Someone needs to remove the stick up his tight arse. Or help him work out his tension, or _something._ ASAP.

You deserve an award for your acting as you smile innocently up at him, as if he is as threatening as a pygmy puff. _Merlin, he’s tall._ “I wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Malfoy.”

His jaw clenches, and you can’t help but relish in the way you’ve pissed him off. My, you’ve rendered the man speechless.

You don’t look away from his eyes as they stare you down, daring you to to make the next move.

But you like to think of yourself as an expert in the song and dance of negotiation, and the winner never makes the first offer. You wait for him to speak.

He exhales through his nose. “I will be the judge of your supposed _expertise_. Follow me.”

He leads you further down the hallway through several large double doors then takes a sharp right down through another hallway.

In your heels, you have to practically jog to keep up with his long strides.

In this new hallway are at least a hundred portraits of people with platinum blonde hair, and a few with jet black. Each portrait seemed to sneer at you as you passed.

Ahead was a large open archway with elegant gold filigree. Beyond the archway were a few steps leading to several large doors.

He pauses briefly to acknowledge you as he stands in the archway. “This library has been a part of this estate for nearly five centuries. I cannot emphasize the importance of the use of _delicacy_ when handling anything within these walls. Understood?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Each family you had as a client seemed to think their home was unique and special. The truth was that you handled every item with care and delicacy.

You understood the sentiment, though. If you were rich and had a room full of priceless valuables and beautiful books, you would expect the same thing.

You look into his blue eyes and realize he is waiting for an answer.

“Understood, _sir_.” You smile sweetly at him.

He narrows his eyes at you. “Adequate.”

Then he walks up the steps and opens a massive door and holds it open for you. For _you._ A mudblood. The surprise at that alone nearly renders you speechless, but the sight before you is magnificent.

You mumble your thanks, unable to fully form the words as you step into in the most magnificent library you have ever seen.

It was nearly three stories tall. There were ladders and ornate bookcases all the way up to the ceiling. A moving, magical mural on the ceiling shows the constellations and a chart of the stars. Each constellation is represented with a painted, nearly transparent figure.

You feel drawn in further and you can’t help the goofy smile on your face as you take it all in. All the fixtures and furniture are perfectly placed to balance the room. You can see that there are little nooks and alcoves everywhere. The library expands further, stretching until you cannot see the end of it. There is a separate mural on another side of witches and wizards dancing.

You spin around and can’t help the goofy smile on your face. It’s truly magnificent. The most beautiful room you’ve ever seen. If you owned a library like this, you would never leave.

You imagine yourself taking tea while you reclined on an elegant antique chaise lounge. These rich families didn’t know how good they have it. There wasn’t another person in sight in this massive wing of the home. Where were they all?

Surely this place had to be the most popular in the Manor. And yet, there was no one.

When you realize it’s been a full minute since Lucius said anything and he’s bound to say something snarky sooner or later, you look back at him.

He’s watching you with an odd, unreadable expression. “Are you quite done _twirling about_?”

His tone is icy but his eyes are... something else. It’s intense but not entirely unkind.

“Quite so, Mr.Malfoy.” You respond, clasping your hands together in front of you. You clear your throat and stand still again, waiting for him to lead the way.

He arches an eyebrow at you as he passes you. You follow him up to the second floor to a small alcove which seems to house several encyclopedias and some old maps which are framed and hung on the wall..

He gestures a hand to a table holding several large, leather-bound volumes of encyclopedia that looked like they had seen better days.

“These volumes are in need of repair. I will give you an hour. You are not to wander from this precise spot while you work. I will return here when the hour is up to examine your work.”

You nod. Book repairs were simple and straightforward enough. These large ones could be tricky, but you could probably manage them all in an hour. It wouldn’t exactly be the challenge he seemed to think it was.

Rich people. He probably never lifted a finger to do work around the house. And why should he have to?

“One hour.” He repeats.

“Understood, Mr. Malfoy.” You smile kindly at him again, delighting at the way his eyes narrow in your direction. You didn’t care how he looked at you as long as he _kept_ looking.

His gaze lingers as you snap your finger and your bag rises to the table, emptying its contents neatly on the table.

You send him a sly glance over your shoulder as you slip on a pair of your protective lace gloves. “Would you like to watch, Mr. Malfoy?”

Your heartbeat hammered. You were going to get yourself fired saying things like that. His eyes blink and he exhales sharply, before apparating away with a small pop.

A risk, to be sure, but it had been worth it.

What had seemed a fairly easy task was proving difficult. Lucius has failed to mention that there are several charms and wards on the books that could cause you to lose a finger in a variety of uncomfortable and painful ways.

But you pull through.

Luckily, you had invested in a rather useful pair of protective black lace gloves that deflected curses and dangerous charms while you handled old books. You never knew what you might encounter in your line of work. It was better to be safe than sorry.

You had commissioned them from a slightly scary looking craftswoman in Knockturn Alley. Besides being rather dainty and stylish, they had the added bonus of helping you prevent your finger oils from damaging old paper and parchment.

Despite the curveball, you were able to use the right counter curses to go in and re-fix the spines. You also were able to clean them up a bit with some special products for old leather spines. You were done just fifteen minutes before the hour was up. You stacked the books neatly in order, and sat primly in your chair.

And here you were, waiting patiently.

There is a soft pop behind you, and Lucius comes to stand over your shoulder and inspect your work.

You tugged the fingertips of your lace gloves and pulled them off. Using your wand, you began to send your things back into your little satchel.

“Not so fast.” He reaches for a book, tapping his wand against it. It floats in the air, and flips through its pages, before snapping shut. Another flick of his long, black wand and it lands gracefully in his leather clad fingertips. He eyes your handiwork, his lips pressed into a firm line.

You wait patiently, knowing that your work has been flawless. He looks over each book carefully. You arch a brow, waiting for a criticism, but it never comes.

His eyes turn to yours as he sets the last book down on the table. “Suitable enough.” He scans you from head to toe. There is a look of disgust, certainly, but something else. He looks almost curious. “You may return tomorrow at 10, sharp. I will have more work for you.”

“Looking forward to it, Mr. Malfoy.” You reply, and follow him down the stairs where Dobby is waiting.

When you take Dobby’s hand to apparate, you look at him once more.

He was still there, watching you as you disappeared and reappeared at the gate.

Oh yes, you were looking forward to working with him.


	3. Chapter 3

**The next morning you wake as the sun comes up. You had been dreaming of him. Lucius.**

You sit up and stretch deeply, sighing away your sleepiness. In your dream you had felt it again, that lingering way that he had grabbed your wrist with his long, elegant fingers. The way his pale blue eyes had pierced through you. The sort of angry tension he seemed to carry in his shoulders.

Oh, you really wouldn’t mind helping him work that out. The tension. But you have actual work to do for him today. You make yourself a cup of your favorite earl grey and sit by your window looking over the street. The city is already bustling. Crowds of people walk along the sidewalks holding their umbrellas.

Today you wear a long sleeve black shirt tucked into a black skirt and a camel coat. The weather is cooler today so you opt for some boots with heels instead of pumps and some sheer black tights. Your hair is arranged in an elegant updo, because it’s raining and anything you do will just be undone.

You pack your satchel and are out the door of your flat by 9:15. The Malfoy Manor is in the countryside, but you need to stop by the office before you go.

The AAA (Ancient Archives Association) is in the same building as the Daily Prophet. Sometimes you work with the reporters on their projects, but you specialize in art and literature archives rather than records. That was one of the only parts of your job you didn’t particularly like. Alas, it was part of your job to do a little bit of everything.

When you are sent out on assignment though, as you often were, the base level archivists handled things like looking up records for the reporters. You had started there too, and now you got to enjoy the perks of going out on assignment. Today you are only coming to the office to grab some supplies. You shrink them to fit into your satchel.

Before anyone can stop you and trap you with small talk, you’re out the door again. You check your watch. Twenty minutes to go.

You apparate to the edge of the estate again and Dobby is waiting for you. He is decidedly less chatty than before and you notice a bandage on his hand.

“What happened to your hand, Dobby?” You ask him as he leads you to the front door.

Dobby starts weeping. “Dobby is not allowed to say to master that you is a nice young lady. He was so angry, master was. So of course Dobby begged him to punish me.”

You frown. Had Lucius beat Dobby for just saying you were nice? Had you really made that much of an impression? You had barely said anything to the elf the day before...

“Of course master would not. But I know I must be punished for speaking out of turn, so I slammed my hand in the door. “ Dobby continues.

You frown in confusion. “Oh.” You pretend to understand. But that logic made zero sense. If Lucius didn’t punish him for mistakes, why would he go and punish himself?

“Master Malfoy always punished me properly. He instructed the young master to do the same.”

“Ah.” You nod. So Dobby was doing to himself what he used to receive from Lucius’s father. It still didn’t really make sense to you. Did Lucius have a soft spot for elves under that icy, haughty exterior? Doubtful, you decide. But intriguing nonetheless.

Dobby leads you directly to the Library this time.

“Master will be with you in fifteen minutes. He has just finished his morning exercise. He will be right along after he freshens up.”

He points to a small table and chair for you to be seated while you wait and you take it. Dobby disappears and you can’t help but let your thoughts wander as you wait. You imagine Lucius all hot sweaty from his exercise, peeling his clothes off and stepping under the hot stream of the shower.

Did he exercise in as many layers as he usually wore? Was his shower a normal size one or something grand like the rest of the estate? Was _he_ a normal size or was that part just as big as the rest of him?

Your mouth goes dry as he appears before you in a black v-neck sweater and black slacks. Everything on him from head to toe is so fitted and well-suited to his lithe, muscular figure. He looks so casual, but still so refined and _delicious_ -looking that you almost lick your lips. Almost.

His face is its usual haughty, disinterested expression until he sees you and his eyes darken a fraction. There’s something decidedly passionate behind his gaze, whether it’s anger, annoyance, or something _else_. You hope it’s attraction but you don’t allow yourself to believe it really is. That’s wishful thinking.

You unconsciously stand as he nears you, and he follows the motion with his eyes from your toes up your body. You stand tall. You practically feel his eyes as they roam you. Suddenly the air feels thicker, warmer.

He seems so determined about something, and you can’t help but try and catch him off guard and annoy him.

You beam at him and say. “Good morning, Mr. Malfoy. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

His eyes narrow at you. Someone is clearly not a morning person. He studies your face as if trying to quickly determine the authenticity of your polite smile and words.

He simply replies, “Follow me.”

You do so, and quickly. He’s not one to stroll leisurely, as you have noticed.

He leads you to the door at the center of the library. He flicks his long black wand to open the doors and you notice that the handle of his wand has been decorated with a silver snake.

What a Slytherin.

You wouldn’t mind if he decided to _slither in._ Ha. You smile to yourself at your ridiculous pun.

“What is it?” He huffs from beside you. You hadn’t realized he had been paying you any attention. Even though you can’t quite tell him what you were thinking, you decide to try and keep his focus on you, even if it’s just for the time being.

“Just enjoying the general splendor of your estate, _sir._ ” You must be imagining the way his eyes drop towards your lips as you speak. You’re wearing your favorite lipstick today. It really compliments your eyes and your skin tone. Not that he would notice that sort of thing.

He only nods and looks away. His jaw clenches and it’s very sexy. You wouldn’t mind making him angry just to see him do that more often. You are delighted at how your existence seems to annoy him so much- if only to see his tense, angry reactions.

Merlin, you needed to focus on something else. It must be so obvious how you’re practically drooling over him. It was hard though, when he was dangling before you like the forbidden fruit he was. It was really difficult when he was so tall and his sweater hugged against his defined muscles and his hair was slightly damp. He looked good enough to eat.

In the smaller room, you can’t help but smell his freshly washed hair. The scent takes over the whole room. It’s a very fresh, clean smell mixed with some kind of spicy aftershave or cologne. It’s intoxicating. And it kind of makes you want to jump his bones.

You shake your head as if to physically shake the naughty, stray thoughts away. You are here for work, after all.

He gestures to a wall full of unmarked volumes.

“These are ledgers of every item in this Library. Your task is to examine the contents of each item listed and assure they are accounted for. You will also need to create a ledger of any items that have not been yet recorded.” He says, and you delight in the low, soft tone of his voice. There is no bite in his voice. He turns to you for acknowledgment.

You nod. “Okay. So essentially you’d like an updated inventory of the entire library. I can do that. No problem.” Mentally you calculate what that would entail. Nearly six months of work. You would need to enlist at least one or two assistants to help you. Also, you would need some new ledgers and self-writing quills that could record as you spoke aloud.

His eyes flash with some kind of malicious glint. “I will have you sign a non-disclosure agreement. You will work alone and you will have two months.”

Your eyes widen. Two months would be an impossible task, even with a large team. Alone? There was no way. It just couldn’t happen. Not even if you worked all day and all night.

Was he insane?

“Is there a problem? I certainly hope not. You did say you were… _the best in the business,_ after all.” He says, and that wicked glint is clear now.

This is his revenge. For yesterday. For five years ago. For your smart mouth that you just couldn’t keep shut. Your taunting words to him had put you in this mess. 

It was a clear challenge. He was putting your career on the line. He knew what he was asking of you. It wasn’t doable.

Even though it’s an impossible task, you aren’t one to back down from a challenge. You really do believe you’re one of the best in the business. You are a hardworking, talented witch. So in a stroke of stubborn pride that you may come to regret later on, you simply smile and say. “Not at all, Mr. Malfoy.”

This time, the corners of his lips turn upward into a tight, cruel smile. “Good.”

He turns and walks out of the small room, and you stand there for a moment, dumbfounded. Was that it? No further instructions. Nothing.

But then he pauses in his step. Still facing away from you, he says, “Are you waiting for a written invitation, Miss Hyde?”

You scramble to follow him. The nerve of this man! You curse yourself for allowing him to unsettle you. You had to keep your composure. This was an unspoken game between you two.

Who would fold under pressure first? It couldn’t be you. You were the one with something to prove. You wanted to show him that you weren’t someone to be underestimated. And you also wanted to crack his icy exterior.

You had a feeling that underneath his cold, aloof demeanor was passion and wildness just waiting to be set free.

And _his body._ Merlin. You wanted to feel his hard muscles and his smooth pale skin. And you just had a feeling he would be big. But because of your blood status, you were so far below him, you couldn’t even pretend to dream he would ever want you. Even just for a nice, primal and mind blowing one night stand.

You sigh internally. Oh well, you could still be a temptation to him if you wanted to. Just because you were going to work with him, it didn’t mean you couldn’t toy with him a little. You hadn’t even begun to dig into the more tempting side of your wardrobe.

If he was going to walk around looking so good, so could you.

He leads you to his office and stalks gracefully around his desk to sit in his large black armchair.

Black. Everything he wears and owns seems to be jet black. Which happens to be your favorite color too. It might be because of how the color makes you feel sexy when you wear it, and it might be the way it makes his blue eyes look unreal. Like there’s something glowing just beneath their icy depths.

He gestures for you to sit across from him. You sit, keeping your back straight and your legs crossed. He only spares you a brief glance as he gathers a small stack of paper and presents it to you with a fountain pen.

“This is your contract and non-disclosure agreement.” He tells you. He looks into your eyes to make sure you’re paying attention before he continues. As if you could even rip your eyes away from his. “The AAA will contract you out to me for two months. They will receive five percent of your commission, which will be generous enough to reflect the pressing deadline I have given to you.”

You nod. Five percent was hardly anything. You wonder why on earth the office would have agreed to such a small cut. Had he already discussed this with them?

You don’t even look at the number before initialing it. You give it quick glance afterwards, and you wonder just how many zeros you had just seen, and how many had been in your imagination. But the page is already turningon it’s own.

You try to keep your face neutral. Was he insane? Who paid that much for archive services?

“The next page is your agreement not to speak about anything you see within the manor anywhere outside of the manor or with anyone other than myself. Failure to keep this agreement will result in legal action.”

You nod, silently impressed with how he sounds like a practiced barrister. You doubted that he had ever held any actual job, being as rich as he had been his whole life.

His even, authoritative tone is a huuuge turn on, though. You wonder to yourself if he was this bossy in bed. You hope so. A quick glance up at his expectant gaze before you sign tells you that he probably is. He seems like a control freak.

You scan it over briefly before signing. It’s all pretty standard. You’ve probably signed at least fifty of these in your short career. People are pretty touchy about their shiny toys. Lots of them probably have dark magic. You’d seen a lot and it would take a lot to surprise you.

What your employers didn’t know and didn’t have to know was that you didn’t really have many people to blab to anyway. You had a few friends but you were sort of a loner. You enjoyed solitude and reading. So you didn’t really need to sign these.

Part of you feels like you should be worried he’ll slip something in there that could be bad for you. But you can’t help your curiosity. You want to prove him wrong and you can’t help but want to take advantage of the opportunity. To work at the Malfoy Manor would be huge for your career.

Maybe you could finally move on into museum work or international projects. You had already come so far. It was enough motivation to try and complete this assignment in such a short time. Bragging rights for your resumé.

He takes the NDA from you and presents to you another small stack of papers.

You look at them and wait for him to explain.

“Please be sure to read these House rules. I expect you to follow them during your stay here.”

Your stay? You blink, deciding to scan the page before opening your mouth. You doubted he would have the patience to answer obvious questions. You end up reading the same parts over and over without really being able to focus on their meaning.

He expected you to actually live here for two months?

You suppose it did make some sense that the project would require you to stay there for the duration. It would be two months of intensive work. You would probably be working long hours. You had never stayed in a family’s home while working, though. It could be a red flag, but you decide to think about this as an opportunity.

Again, you remind yourself of how this would look on your resume. If you pulled this off, you could probably work anywhere you wanted when you were done.

Then again, that would be the challenge. To pull off the impossible.

You glance down the list of rules. It’s several pages long. You arch an eyebrow.

**Rule 12. Enlisted servant shall only dine in the servants quarters.**

_Enlisted servant!?_ What did this guy think this assignment entailed exactly?

The list is pretty clear. Stay out of sight. Do not speak to guests of the home. And don’t bother him unless absolutely necessary. You want to argue over the terminology, but you bite your lip. You know you have to choose your battles with Lucius.

You read all the way to rule 50. The list is pretty thorough. Probably so he doesn’t have to spend his time explaining everything. On the last page, there isn’t any place to sign.

He notes your hesitation. “This is not a legal binding contract. This is instead, a set of guidelines created for all servants of this household which I expect you to follow from this day forward.” There’s that glint in his eyes again as he watches you react to his words

You are not his servant. You will never be anything like his servant. “I prefer the term ‘contracted employee.”

“It is inconsequential to me what you prefer, Miss Hyde.” He says, his tone icy and uncaring.

You arch an eyebrow. Is that how he was going to be? Fine then. “Very well. Shall I begin, then?” You don’t want to sit around and make small talk now that he’s pissed you off.

He nods. You stand and remove your coat, holding his gaze as you drape it over your arm and gather your bag. “After today’s work I will return to London in the evening to gather supplies and my things. I will return here tomorrow morning.”

He nods, scanning you from head to toe with disdain or interest. You can’t tell. Maybe a bit of both. “Adequate.”

“Perfect.” You reply absentmindedly, your thoughts drifting to his perfect blue eyes and perfect jawline and… Oops. There you go checking him out again.

You have been looking at each other silently for a full minute and you decide you should probably stop ogling him now and get to work.

Before you can move to leave he stands and walks towards you. He steps closer and you gulp. What was he going to do? Why are you excited by this? Something flickers across his face that’s almost a smirk. And then he’s passing you to exit the room.

“Follow me.” He tells you. When you are in the hallway, he continues. “As you will recall, the Library is down this hallway to the left. Your room will be this way. Do keep up.”

You follow him closely, perhaps too closely because you practically walk right into his back as he comes to an abrupt stop. You wince, stepping backwards. Oh no. “My apologies, Mr. Malfoy.”

He arches a full eyebrow at you. He silently looks you over again and seems to be gathering his patience. Or something. “This will be your room.”

It’s closer to his office than you thought it would be. You can’t help your curiosity. “And where are you and your family staying?” His eyes darken, and you decide to add a clarification: “So I can stay out of your way, of course.”

“The West wing. You are not permitted to enter that side of the home for any reason.” He tells you, watching you carefully.

You nod, “Understood. And the grounds?

He gives you an icy glare. “You will bepermitted to roam the grounds as long as you keep out of my way. You may not wander when guests are present.”

“Yes, sir. Understood.” You keep nodding. “Just, um, one more question.” You look to him to see what he’ll say or do. There’s something that you’ve been dying to know.

“Yes?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“Is there a missus Malfoy? Or am I expected to report to only you.” You try to sound innocent, not like you’re dying to know. Which you very much _are._

His eyes twinkle with something and he takes a step towards you. Is it mischief or something that’s a little threatening in his gaze? You don’t think he realizes what he’s doing as he takes another step towards you. You now stand less than a foot apart. Now you have to crane your neck to look up at him. He’s looking down at you and you can’t tear your eyes away from his icy blues.

He gives you a wide grin, and it’s breathtaking and cruel. And Merlin, he smells good. You are practically holding your breath awaiting his answer.

“It’s just me, Miss Hyde. _For now.”_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been feeling super uninspired lately, but then I came back from my little break to so many sweet comments! Thank you all <3

**Why did your heart just skip a beat? You immediately take a step backwards and exhale.**

“Oh, um, right. Good. I mean… Well, I-I’ll get to work then. Thank you!” You stutter, putting space between you two. Your gaze drops to his chest, because you can't bear to see him amused at your expense.

He doesn’t reply, and you don’t dare to look up from his chest. A soft blush fills your cheeks at your sudden awkwardness, so you turn around before he can see.

You’re still flustered by his words as you walk back to the Library to start your work. Had that almost seemed like an invitation more than a taunt? No, it's definitely just your imagination. Right?

 _Don't kid yourself._ You tell yourself. _He sees you as a mudblood servant and that’s it._

This is so unlike you. Men didn’t fluster you. It was always the other way around. This was not good.

You only feel calm again when you shut yourself into the small room full of ledgers. You can catch your breath. And then it’s time to get to work because you need a distraction and if you ever wanted to finish, you really ought to get started right away.

You sort through the first of many ledgers, squinting to read the tiny written words. There are hundreds of transactions listed in the first one alone. Some are in French. Staring at the room full of them, you realize you have your work cut out for you. But again, you like a challenge. Nothing worth having ever came easy.

This is an opportunity. One to advance your career and to acquaint yourself with the Malfoy collection of literature and art. There was no use feeling anxious about it, you just needed to get to work. You just had to start _somewhere._

Next, you walk through the entire library. It’s massive and it takes you several hours to explore every corner. It really starts to pour outside and the rain patters against the windowpane. The soft ambient noise of the rain mixed with the smell of old books… you’re in bliss as you work. It’s so peaceful and pretty in here. It’s even better than the library at Hogwarts.

You hope that Lucius uses it often. It’s just too magnificent to go wasted. Also, you admit to yourself that there's a small part of you hoping to see him around as you work.

You draft a general map of the Library, assigning a grid for locating items. After the grid comes an analysis of how the books are currently categorized. It seems that in the main room, there is no rhyme or reason to how the books are ordered. No wonder Lucius hired you. This place is disjointed and in disarray, as far as organization goes.

It’s also quite chilly. There’s a grand fireplace that's several feet taller than you in the center room, but you don’t dare use it because it’s not your home. You don’t want to assume it’s okay to light it without permission. You cast a warming spell around yourself and log the question away in your mind to ask Lucius next time you see him. Would you ever see him while you worked? And if so, how often? Did he come in here to read? Or did he keep to himself?

Shaking your head, you decide to focus on your work. It didn’t matter, you would just see him when you saw him. Tomorrow when you come back, you decide you will ask him about the fireplace or anything else that crosses your mind.

You decide to start first by locating the most valuable and most useful items, to be placed in the main room, with the smaller alcoves and rooms to be categorized by subject. Then everything would be classified and alphabetized. Utilizing the muggle Dewey decimal system and adapting it for magical topics, you feel like you’re in a good place for the first day. Once you had things in order, it would be easy to create new ledgers.

At lunchtime, you take a break to inspect something that had caught your eye. An unusual looking book sits on the bottom of one of the shelves in the main room. One that looks suspiciously like one of your favorite classic romances.

Wuthering Heights. _A muggle written novel._ Or at least, you’re certain that it’s an old copy of it. You had seen a sketch of what a first printing looked like back in school. The spine is untitled. A mistake in the gold foiling. It couldn’t be, could it? What would a muggle written novel be doing in such a revered pureblood family's home? It couldn’t possibly be it.

As you sit on your heels studying the spine of the unique blue leather bound book on the bottom shelf, contemplating reaching for it, you hear footsteps. You look over your shoulder. It’s Lucius and he’s walking straight towards you. Dobby is at his side. You brush off your skirt and stand upright.

Dobby gets your attention, “Hello, Miss Hyde. I have come to inform you that lunch is served daily at noon and dinner at six.” He tells you.

Lucius walks past you to look out the window while you nod your acknowledgment to the elf. Your eyes can’t help but follow in Lucius's direction to the window. It’s coming down hard outside, the rain has been ceaseless as you worked. From the inside of the Library, there’s an excellent view of the meticulously kept grounds. You hope to have time to explore that part of the home too. You’ve already spotted a lovely fountain and a labyrinth of rose bushes.

You wonder to yourself what part of the garden he’s looking at as you take in the back of his figure. Maybe he’s studying the brooding storm clouds or the wet pavement. Whatever it is, it keeps the signature sneer from his exquisitely handsome features for a moment. He looks calm. Contemplative. He looks decidedly less brooding and serious in contrast to the dark storm clouds. Still handsome as ever, even from behind. If you were an artist, you would grab a pencil and sketch it all before the moment was gone. Which it is, just as soon as Dobby steps into your line of sight to get your attention again. Oh, right. Dobby had been telling you about lunch.

You nod. “Got it. Thank you, Dobby.” Glancing at your watch, you see it’s almost twelve. “I had brought myself something to eat just in case, but that sounds lovely. Will you be eating with me, then?” At least you wouldn’t be dining alone. You try to smile cheerfully at the elf, whose eyes go wide.

“Oh _NO._ Miss will dine with master Lucius. Dobby could _never_ dine with a guest of the home, oh _no._ ” He wails dramatically, and you flicker a confused look up to Lucius, who is already watching you. His face betrays no emotion. Still, his pale blue eyes are penetrative as ever. You feel as if he looks right through you, and it makes you feel something fluttering in your stomach.

“I can just eat in here.” You offer, shrugging.

But just as quickly as Lucius had entered the little alcove you had been sitting in, he walks past you and into the hallway.

“Master takes his afternoon tea in the sun room.” Dobby explains, gesturing for you to follow Lucius. You jump into action, following him quickly as Dobby hobbles behind you.

Hadn’t he told you that you would dine in the servants quarters just a few hours ago? You wonder what made him change his mind so quickly. Was this some sort of test? Were you really meant to go to the servants quarters and he was going to fire you for your insolence if you followed him?

Still, Dobby didn’t seem capable of being a trickster… so you decide to keep up behind him.

You follow Lucius down the long hallway to the center of the estate, or at least you think that it looks like what you had seen from the entrance. You’re a bit turned around. The place is so large that you could be in another wing. If you went exploring, you would certainly get lost on your own. Even with the extreme opulence, it all starts to look the same after a while. You walk past unused sitting room after unused sitting room. So many closed wooden doors.. not another soul in sight. Elegant chaise lounges and large window sills gathering dust. Figuratively, of course. They would never be _actually_ gathering dust, of course. It was spotless and clean smelling in every hallway.

In a mocking voice in your head, you remind yourself that _there were house elves for that._ This was just how Pureblood lived. Big homes with hardly anyone in it.

At the very end of the long hallway you follow Lucius in making a sharp left through a doorless archway. You walk into a room where the ceiling and far wall are made entirely of glass panels. There are plants everywhere, lush blooms of flowers that look like they belong in expensive floral arrangements. This room, much like the Library, seemed of a different spirit than Lucius’s dark, gloomy office. There were stained glass windows atop large panes of clear glass.

It’s all so beautiful. You have a wonderful close up view of the fountains and the artfully trimmed shrubs. You wander towards the large windows to look closer at the scenery. The wet pavement of the walkways glisten in the rain. Some may think this kind of weather arbitrary and gloomy, but you have always loved it. As frequently as it rained in England, you never tired of the smell of fresh rain. The charged ions in the air always calmed you. Plus, you liked to think that the plants always looked a little bit happier after a good rain.

And this was no sprinkling, it was a full-on storm. It was marvelous to watch. The low rumbles of thunder followed by flashes of lightning.

A clanking of porcelain draws your attention to a small table where Lucius stands, watching you. Dobby is setting the table and Lucius is waiting for you. Flushing at the idea you were gawking in his presence again, you cast your eyes downward as you join him at the small table. He sits after you do.

You don’t want to speak first. But boy do you have trouble keeping your mouth shut.

“You know, I can always just eat in the Library. Um, out of your way, if you want.” You tell him, despising the nervous quality to your voice. What was wrong with you today?

“Nonsense. I will not have the ledgers littered with _crumbs._.” He tells you with his signature sneer, but it's not as biting as you would expect.

You want to tell him that you weren’t planning to eat your sandwich hunched over his 200 year old ledgers. For Merlin’s sake, you were a professional. You’re annoyed, but this time you hold your tongue.

Instead, you sit primly and let Dobby serve you a piping hot cup of tea. He sets out scones and some fresh clotted cream and jam. He informs you that several finger sandwiches are being prepared for you.

 _Well la di daa._ Who knew you were having tea with the Queen today?

It’s silent. So you turn your gaze to the window again. It’s so dreamy in here. The elegant flowers and plants make you feel like you’ve stepped into a daydream. Oh, to be a multimillionaire. There’s even classical musical music playing from somewhere in the distance. It perfectly accents the setting. It’s lovely.

Almost like the perfect date, if it were any other circumstances. Or, if you were with literally anyone else.

Lucius sets his tea down, and the soft clattering immediately gets your attention, drawing you out of your musing. Your eyes meet his, and he raises an eyebrow. Oops, were you daydreaming again? You couldn’t help it. It’s so wonderful in this room.

“It’s lovely in here.” You admit softly.

He nods, just one sharp incline of his head, and looks away. The small action of indifference makes your stomach flip. Why did you suddenly feel so nervous around him?

The power had shifted this morning. That’s why. You were distracted by your attraction to him and let the upper hand shift to him. That wouldn’t do.

You finish your scone, and your teacup fills itself up. The tea is a lovely black tea that has a hint of berry flavor. Whatever it is, is very good. Dobby returns with a platter of finger sandwiches.

Lucius watches you as you reach first. You want to pull your hand back, thinking you had committed a faux pas of some sort. But asking about it would only make it worse, so you grab a cheesy looking mini toast with artichoke hearts. It's divine. A culinary masterpiece. You fight the urge to moan aloud.

After a minute, Lucius is served a different plate with some sort of sandwich and salad. It looks very… healthy.

Boy are you full of questions. He doesn’t seem to be receptive at the moment, though. Probably better to wait to bother him until after he eats. Meanwhile, you enjoy a few more small sandwiches until your hunger is satisfied. You don’t finish the plate, a sad attempt on your behalf to look ladylike.

You dab delicately at the corners of your lips with your cloth napkin before setting it back in your lap. When you look up again, he’s watching you. He seems to have finished eating as well.

“Lucius?” You ask him, ready with your mental list of questions. Well, there were only two on your mind at present.

He merely looks at you, waiting for you to speak.

“I have some questions for you.” You tell him, your voice sounding much more clear and confident than before.

He leans back in his chair slightly. Not enough to make him look unrefined. He does seem a bit more relaxed, though. “Related to your work, I presume?”

“Yes.” You nod, steeling yourself to meet his intense gaze head on. “The first is... May I use the fireplace in the Library? It was a bit chilly in there today.”

His brows furrow a tiny fraction before his impassive expression returns. “Certainly. I assume you know how to operate one?”

“Quite so, Mr. Malfoy.”

He nods. Another stare off. “And the other, Miss Hyde?”

You blink, “Right. I had an idea about your library.” You pause, and when he doesn’t speak, you lean forward to meet his eyes again. “See, as it is now, there is only a vague organization. I’d like to reorganize it so that your most valuable and useful items are easily accessible in the main room, and organize the other sections by category. Of course, I can recreate new ledgers so it will be easier to find anything you’re looking for.” He’s just watching you with that unplaceable glint in his eyes. “Well, what do you think?”

A small smirk turns up the corner of his lips. “Adequate.”

Nodding, you stand to leave first. “Right. Thank you for tea, I’ll get back to work now.” You wouldn’t dare bore him with small talk, and you really had your work cut out for you. Plus, you were so curious about that little blue book.

His eyebrows raise a fraction, and he nods. You stand and leave the way you came, taking a last glance out the window.

Back in the library, you feel like you can catch your breath. You flick your wand to ignite the fireplace and you are quick to return to your work. You don’t dare let your mind slip to how flustered it made you feel to be sitting across from Lucius, his attention focused only on you. You don’t. Because you weren’t.. flustered, that is. It’s just a new job, and you’re nervous because you have a client with impossible standards. Yeah, that’s it. Well, maybe if you kept repeating that to yourself, you would eventually believe it.

That it had nothing to do with how devastatingly handsome he is. Nope, _not at all._

You walk over to the window where Lucius had been looking outside, and look down at the grounds. There seems to be some sort of exercise area and a swimming pool.

You were just thinking to yourself about how long it had been since you’d been swimming- when the sound of someone clearing their throat have you jumping and spinning on your heel.

At eye level, the black suit clad chest is unmistakable, and your treacherous cheeks flush pink again. Merlin! When had he snuck up on you?

“I don’t believe I hired you to gaze out the window, did I Miss Hyde?” His low voice drawls. It almost sounds like he’s… teasing you? Your heart skips a beat.

When you look up to meet his gaze, he’s not smiling--but there’s that twinkle to his eyes that you can’t seem to place. Is it amusement? No, but that would mean he was looking at you with something other than disdain. And there’s the problem of how his full lips are almost… smiling? No. You clearly need to get your head checked at St. Mungo’s.

Hallucinating, that had to be a sign of some kind of mental decline, didn’t it?

“Right. No.” You clear your throat and step aside to your right, but he steps at the same time and you end up staring at his chest again. Wonderful.

You step aside, and this time he stays put and you scramble to put distance between you two.

Where was that vixen from this morning? The confident one who planned to get back at him by seducing him and proving him wrong? That version of you was hiding in the corner somewhere at the slightest intimidation by this tall, broad specimen of a man.

He hadn’t seemed so intimidating back in school. Sure, he had been good-looking, but back then he had just been another pureblood git who thought he owned the world. But now… now he was a six foot something, _sexy,_ well dressed man. And you could never have him. It was messing with your mind.

So you return to work, trying to ignore his presence behind you.

What were you doing? _Come on, focus._ Okay, where was that little blue book from earlier? You were looking at the same shelf as before, you were certain of it--but the book was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone, I'm blown away by the support on this story. I didn't think there would be anyone out there who thirsted for Lucius like me but I was wrong!! hahaha. I'm glad you guys like the story so far. 
> 
> thanks a ton for all the kudos and comments, you guys inspire me to keep writing. Thank you!! <3

**_No way._ You had to be looking at the wrong shelf. There was no feasible way that the blue book that looked suspiciously like a rare print of Wuthering Heights had just ** _**disappeared.** _

You turn and check the shelf by the opposite window. But it isn’t there either. It irks you because you know with almost absolute certainty that you had seen it over there. It’s not _that_ important, but now it’s a little nagging irritation in the back of your mind as you try to shrug it off and get back to work.

Lucius takes a seat on one of the mahogany and leather armchairs by the fire, so you avoid that side of the room. You needed a break from his intense pale blue eyes that seemed to see right through you. You return to the ledger room and begin to compile a list of supplies that you will need for your assignment.

So far on your list, you have at least twenty new ledgers, some self-writing quills, inkwells, your bookbinding kit… and so much more. The list takes up a long scroll of parchment. By the early afternoon, you decide that you will leave for Diagon Alley to shop for the supplies you need and then to your flat to pack your things. You would be staying at the Malfoy Manor for two whole months, and you had a lot to bring with you next time you came.

Two months. That will be the longest you have ever been away from your flat. Perhaps you could place a few heavy protection wards to protect your flat and all of your books. You could make it appear as if the front door to your apartment isn’t even there. Yes, that should work. Oh, but you also would need to pay the rest of your rent upfront... You’re a bit scatterbrained as you compile everything together on your long to-do list. But mostly, you’re excited to get started on this project. The rest of the afternoon flies by.

The sun never comes out from behind the storm clouds, and the sky only gets darker so you realize that you need to get to the shops before they close for the evening. It’s time to leave. You put your coat on and grab your satchel. Walking up to the fireplace to extinguish it, you notice Lucius is still there, reading. Had he been there the whole time? You feel a tightening in your stomach, a clench of apprehension as you approach him, but no fear.

You stand tall and steel your nerves to say goodbye. Your heels tap softly along the wood flooring. He doesn’t notice you until you’re right in front of him. He had been reading and appeared to be almost finished with the book. He closes the book, tucking a finger inside before he turns his attention to you. You open your mouth to speak, but then _you see it._ The book in his hand has an unmistakable blue and gold leather cover. Sure enough, on the front under his hand, you can barely make out the title, ‘Wuthering Heights’.

A smirk plays upon your lips as you meet his eyes. _Imagine that._ The mysterious Lucius Malfoy curled up by the fire with a muggle-written romance. It was almost endearing.

Or at least it would be if he didn’t have the personality of a deadly snake. Lucius is like the human version of a black mamba. Deadly and beautiful, accented by darkness. Just watching him sitting so still and refined stirs something inside of you. Despite your confident stance, you feel aware of how powerful he is, just reclined in an armchair. You let your eyes trail his figure up and down appreciatively before back to his eyes. His body language is open, and you imagine what it would be like to crawl into the lap of someone so powerful.

You’re both just… sizing one another up. He’s not friendly to you in the way he looks at you, but not antagonistic either. What was his game? Was he trying to get you to cower away and look away first? You don’t. You decide that you aren’t ashamed of being attracted to him, or openly showing it. Let him decide what to do with that information. If he didn’t like it, _he_ could be the one to look away.

Besides, you have the upper hand again. You would bet almost anything that he doesn’t know about Emily Bronte being a muggle author. Something tells you that he wouldn’t have been reading the novel if he had known. You would put a galleon on it that if he found out, he would drop the book as if it burned him.

Which gave you a delightful idea.

“Mr. Malfoy,” You nod in acknowledgement to him, “I just wanted to inform you of my departure. I will need to get some supplies and my things before I return tomorrow.” You tell him, and his blue eyes meet yours after a very slow inspection of your figure.

The way he looked at you made you feel warm all over. It was almost like he was attracted to you too… but you knew better. He nods, his large hand tracing the leatherbound book in his hand, thumb tucked inside to mark his spot. Like he was waiting impatiently for you to leave so he could get back to it.

This pushes your temptations to ruin it for him right over the edge. You simply have to bring it up now. Pointing to the book in his hands, you smile.

“You know, that's one of my favorites.” You tell him, “Bronte is so poetic, I love that line... _‘He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.’_ She’s such a wonderful _muggle author_ , don’t you think?”

He’s momentarily speechless, it seems, as he stares at you. His full lips press into a hard line. Uh oh, was he angry? Oh noooo.

His silence stretches on. You let your smirk stretch into a smug grin as you reach up and let your long dark hair down from its updo. His eyes follow your every movement. The pale blue darkening a fraction in the cool depths of his eyes. Shaking your hair out, you wait for Lucius’s response with a sly smile.

His nostrils flare. This was going to be good.

“I assure you, my father wouldn’t have brought this novel into our collection if that were so, Miss Hyde,” Lucius tells you. He clears his throat. “All literature in this Library is written by persons of magical blood. We would not have acquired this novel if it were written by a muggle. You may discard any silly little fantasies otherwise.”

His eyes flashed with some strange, heated look. It was challenging and something else.

You nod, a tad condescendingly, “Of course not, Mr. Malfoy. You must be right.” You run a hand through your hair down to where it ends by your waist and he exhales sharply, eyes following the movement.

“Of course I am.” He says. He places the folded book on the table at his side. Standing, he takes several long, predatory strides towards you.

Your heart flutters, but you keep the sly smile on your face. “Certainly. I must be mistaken.”

He stands before you, that glint of some hidden emotion. Challenge? Intrigue? You didn’t know, but whatever it was, you liked it. You liked how he was looking at you and that you held his attention.

“Indeed.” He says.

You pretend to think about it. “Yes. Now that I think about it...,” You take your own step forward, raising your chin to look him in the eyes. “Perhaps she was a squib.”

He sneers at you, nostrils flaring.

“No matter. Anyway, I better be off. Good evening, Mr. Malfoy.” You look up at him through your lashes with a sly smile as you step around him.

He doesn’t respond, and it makes you feel quite satisfied with yourself. He thinks he’s so aloof and unattainable. Ha! He had walked towards you like he was going to do something about how angry you made him. But now he was speechless. The power had shifted back to you.

And the way that he had looked at you then, that _had to be_ interest, didn’t it? As you step out onto the front porch and prepare to apparate, you can’t help but smile to yourself. A new idea was forming in your mind. Yes, these next two months would be _delightful._

You spend the rest of the afternoon in Diagon Alley collecting the supplies you need. Your satchel grows heavy with the shrunken items, and you are just about ready to go home when you remember to check along Knockturn Alley. The place is a bit dodgy but there’s also a great book binding shop and a divine lingerie shop. You need a few more things, and you always liked to browse for lingerie. After landing a huge contract, you feel like you deserve a nice new set of panties. Or a nice nightgown.

For work reasons, of course.

The shopkeeper looks you up and down and probably immediately decides that you aren’t worth her time. It’s something you are used to, especially in Knockturn Alley. People always assumed you to be poor and a waste of time. The shopkeepers took one look at you and decided you couldn’t afford their wares. Vaguely, you remember this shopkeeper to be one of your former Slytherin classmates. You don’t know if she remembers you, a lowly mudblood, or if she just doesn’t like your clothes, but you don’t care. She continues to talk to the only other person in the shop.

The person she is speaking to is a severe, aristocratic-looking young woman who has jet black hair with a platinum blonde streak on either side of her heart-shaped face. She’s lovely, all symmetrical features and big green eyes. The shop attendant is speaking to her, but her eyes follow you as you walk deeper inside. You smile politely and turn your attention to the displays. You don’t mind browsing without someone in your ear, trying to upsell you.

There’s a lovely long black silk dressing gown, a black marabou feather robe, and so many lovely black sets of lingerie and stockings all around you. You want all of them, and you can certainly daydream about them, but today you will settle for a nice black silk nightgown to sleep in and some new stockings. You select a nice one your size and head to the till, but then you pass a set that catches your eyes. It’s so pretty it makes you do a double-take. The bra has black flowers embroidered over a sheer nude fabric that matches your skin tone, and there’s also a matching garter and panty set.

Turning the price tag in your hand, you feel conflicted. It was a lot, but it was also a rare, beautiful set that you hadn’t seen before and probably would never see again. This place didn’t keep the same sets in stock for long. It was an independent brand, not a chain. It was the only one and it was in your size. Merlin, you wanted it.

On one hand, you really ought not to buy more than you need, but then again… you had seen your contract. If you pulled off this job, a little splurge wouldn’t hurt.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” The other woman browsing in the shop says, smiling slyly. “I was considering getting it too. It’s my size, too. But actually, I think it would look lovely with your skin tone.”

You smile back. And whoever said women couldn’t be friendly to one another? Up close, the woman is even prettier. If you weren’t so self-confident in your beauty and self-worth, you would probably feel a little green with envy. She was as pale as a porcelain doll, and her dark navy outfit was elegant and refined.

“Thank you. I think I am going to get it.” You hold it up to yourself in the mirror, admiring it further. The embroidery was so pretty and unique. You would probably regret it if you didn’t buy it.

The woman gives you an approving nod, looking you up and down in the mirror with a small smile. “It’s lovely. You absolutely should.”

The shopkeeper joins in, eyeing you from head to toe. She comes to stand next to the woman. “Oh, yes. It’s perfect.” She gives you a big fake smile.

Oh? Suddenly the shopkeeper wants to be your best friend after ignoring you for over twenty minutes? Hmm. Yeah right. It is odd, though, how after the other woman talked to you, suddenly you were deemed worthy. You wonder who exactly this woman was to be able to sway the shopkeeper like that.

“Oh, fine.” You sigh, “Well if you both insist on twisting my arm...” You crack a smile to go along with your light tone. To hell with the price, it was going to look perfect on you.

You bring your purchase to the register, and the other woman returns to browsing.

“Would you like to get the matching dressing gown?” The shopkeeper offers you.

“There’s a matching dressing gown?!” You and the woman behind you say at the same time.

“Changed your mind, have you?” The shopkeeper looks over your shoulder and laughs. “Too bad, Cissy. I did tell you about that before, you know.”

Cissy? For a moment you’re confused, but then the other woman responds.

“I don’t remember you saying that. If I had known. Hmph.” She pouts, laughing good-naturedly. “Well, go on. Fetch it so we can see. I want to see what I’ll be missing” She sighs dramatically and then sends you a friendly smile. Her tone is playful. You decide that you like her.

The shopkeeper shrugs, and heads into the backroom.

“Forgive me and my lack of manners, she’s my cousin, my aunt owns this shop.” The woman, who must be ‘Cissy’, tells you. You note a subtle French accent in her voice. “I’m Narcissa Black.” She extends an elegantly manicured hand to you, and you take it.

“Estella Hyde.” You respond, smiling politely as you shake her hand.

“Pleasure.” She says. And she seems to mean it.

You knew of the Black family, but you had never seen this girl before. Andromeda and Bellatrix Black had gone to Hogwarts around the same time as you, and they were a bit of a nightmare. Was she related to them?

The shopkeeper returns holding a sheer black robe with elegant embroidery that matches the floral design of the bra. A black ribbon tied it together at the bust and the bottom looked like it had a sweeping train that was also embroidered. The sleeves flared out with elegant lace trim. It was beautiful.

“Oh, Estella you simply _must_.” Narcissa coos in her feminine french lilt, sounding as if you were long time friends.

You let out a small sigh. This was all going to break the bank a little bit. You felt an inkling of doubt. When would you even wear such a thing, except around your home? But then a certain tall, brooding man comes to mind, and you decide to pull out your purse. “I’ll take it.”

At home, you set down all the heavy bags weighing down your arms as soon as you’re in the door. You kick off your heels and illuminate the hallway. In the kitchen, you pour yourself a nice glass of red wine. What a long day it had been, and what an interesting two months you had ahead of you.

Sitting on your couch, you look around you at your collection of books. You still liked your little collection, even after seeing such a lovely library at the Malfoy Manor. Sure, you had views of a little dark alleyway rather than sweeping, manicured lawns. And your fireplace was small, not taller than you. But this was home. You were proud of what you had accomplished in the five years since you left Hogwarts.

You pack and pack until your trunk is stuffed to the brim. Then you pay your landlord and send an owl to your mom to let her know you’ll be away for a while. Finally, you turn off the lights of your quiet apartment and get some shut eye.

The following morning you arrive at the manor at nine in the morning. You stand with your trunk and satchel in tow, which are both quite heavy. Dobby helps you levitate them both as he leads you into your assigned bedroom.

The room, which you hadn’t quite seen properly before, is quite large. It’s beautiful, painted a rich dark purple. The ceilings are high and the walls have black wainscotting and filigree. On the wall opposite the large four-poster bed, there is a small vanity and a wardrobe. There is a large window with drawn curtains that overlooks a small courtyard on the side of the house. There is even an attached bathroom with a beautiful silver sink.

It’s beyond lovely. But then again, would you expect anything less from an estate this extravagant? Flicking your wand, you begin to unpack. With a flourish of your wand, your clothes are sent to the wardrobe, hanging themselves. Another flick and your bottles of makeup and perfume set themselves atop the vanity. You set your portable record player on the little table next to your bed. You put on some Frank Sinatra, your favorite muggle artist, as you get ready for the day.

Recalling how Dobby told you about Lucius’s exercise routine the day before, you have an idea. You decide to get changed into something a little _less comfortable._ Something for a casual stroll around the gardens. And if you happened to run into a tall, brooding, sexy blonde man working out, then that was just fortuitous circumstance. You walk up to the wardrobe and slide through several hangers before you find just the right dress.

It's a long-sleeved black sheath dress that hugs your body down to your knees. You wear sheer stockings and a simple pair of pumps. The dress has a slight hint of cleavage but is still very professional... As long as no one looks directly down your neckline, where they might see just a bit more. Oops. Lucius is quite tall, though, isn't he? That’s just too bad. Too late to change now. You have a schedule to keep, after all.

You turn about in the mirror, admiring how this dress highlights the cinch of your waist and accentuates every supple curve. It’s perfect for a ‘casual stroll.’

You are shameless, really. But who cares?

After yesterday, you had realized something about yourself. You simply adored frustrating Lucius Malfoy. You liked seeing his jaw clench in anger and the intense passion in his eyes. You wanted to see that tension snap inside him. To see him on the verge of losing control. To see his strong resolve snap.

After seeing Lucius reading Wuthering Heights, it made you realize something about him, too. He followed his family's traditions without ever questioning why. He took their beliefs as his own without considering alternatives. He always assumed he was right. He would never see you as more than a mudblood.

And still, you _wanted_ him. You knew now that the only way you could ever have him was to make him realize that everything he believed about blood purity was wrong. More than anything, you wanted him to feel powerless to want you back. You wanted to knock him off his high horse and bring him to his knees. You, a mudblood.

If all else failed, you knew you could crack almost any man’s resolve with enough innuendo and the right outfit. It would just take a little coaxing for the deadly snake that was Lucius Malfoy to be wrapped around your little finger and knocked off of his high horse.

Your plan was straightforward. You just wanted to have him, and then to have him _out of your system._ It all would begin with a morning stroll.


	6. Chapter 6

**On the other side of the manor, out on the grounds, Lucius was thinking hard about how he ended up in this situation.** Here he was, in his own home with _you_ , the mudblood that was driving him mad again. He lifted the large tire, throwing it forward with a grunt. Sweat poured down his bare torso. His hair was tied back. He had just finished his four mile run, and was halfway through the obstacle course. All the while, he still couldn’t get you out of his mind.

Eventually, he couldn’t keep going. He had no focus, and he couldn't finish. Instead, he headed inside for a cold shower. He didn’t usually cut his workouts short, but he was so frustrated. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he did something about it. The problem.

You.

First of all, he would have some choice words for the director of the bloody A.A.A. for sending you to him. He had asked for an experienced archivist, and they had given him _your_ card. He had vaguely recognized the name, not quite placing it. Hyde. It was a fairly common surname. He set it up without second thought. If he had ever considered it to be you, the girl from Hogwarts who had dared to _tease_ him... Well, he simply _would not have_ invited you into his home. You. The mudblood girl who had stirred something inside of him. Fury... disgust, mostly in himself... and fine, a faint _interest_.

Your face… It was both lovely and infuriating. The memory of the little standoff you had had with him in the Hogwarts library sometimes resurfaced in his mind over the years. The haughty way you had always carried yourself--like a queen, even though you were actually just a filthy little mudblood. The Slytherin girls had been envious of your natural charm and beauty, things they could go to refinement school to try learn but never attain. No amount of money could buy what came to you naturally. Those jealous girls spent far too much time talking badly about you in fits of giggles, trying to break you down. You never let them.

Lucius couldn’t forget the way you had always held your head high, aloof and unaffected. So stubborn and proud, despite coming from nothing. Composure. Confidence. Qualities that even the most refined ladies of his company often lacked. It was maddening that such a lovely creature like you came from such low blood status. You. _A nobody._ He had no real reason to find you interesting, but he also could never seem to forget you.

Five years passed and he thought he might see you in passing. But he never did. It would have satisfied him to know you had ended up married to some poor man, with lots of bratty little kids running around you. That you would look ragged and dirty, as lowly as you really were. Or perhaps, he fantasized, you had become some kind of entry level employee at a shop- that when he finally found you, you would be forced to serve him in the most demeaning way. That you would become meek and humble, just a little Mudblood shopkeeper. At least _then_ he would be satisfied in the knowledge that he could not and would not ever have you.

He would have easily forgotten you, then, knowing that you had met your fate as a mudblood. Poverty, misery, and far too many ruddy children. Not suitable for him.

But he never saw you anywhere he went. Where did you go? The memories of your infuriating sass and wit never entirely faded, even though he had met many women since leaving Hogwarts. The problem was, he couldn’t quite remember your first name at all. He had only heard it from you the once.

But he remembered your surname. Hyde. More than ten thousand people had the last name in England alone. Though he would never admit it, he had checked.

Truth be told, he had forgotten your first name the minute you had spoken it. He had only seen the shapes that your full, pouty lips made as you spoke… Well, he had been a bit distracted. If not by your lips, it was the shape of your long legs in that pleated uniform skirt-- the one that you had visibly outgrown. The expanse of skin between your little knee socks and the hem of that short little skirt held his attention. Your long, silky hair and expressive eyes.

No, you weren’t nearly as ugly as the other mudbloods he had seen. You. The sassy little thing that didn’t know your place. The one that would _dare_ talk back to him.

In class, and even in the Slug Club, everyone called you ‘Hyde.’ Lucius didn’t dare degrade himself by asking anyone for your first name… but he never forgot your face. Nor did he forget the secret glances stolen to each other in the quiet Hogwarts library. The way you bit your plush lower lip in concentration as you studied. The long curtain of your hair falling in your face. Your silky mane being pushed backwards only to fall forward again.

You, the one with the fire in your eyes. The one who delighted in instigating him. It was maddening. Your naughty little grin when you pretended to read the first chapter of the Charms textbook when he needed it. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from standing over you. Out of desire to intimidate or to be next to you, he truly didn’t know. He was beside himself. Either way it had been a mistake. Because in close proximity, you let out a sound that would haunt him for years. The soft, shocked gasp of him standing close, inches from your face.

That little gasp slipped into his subconscious. He had dreamed of taking you against the wall of books roughly. Or on the table where he studied. Fantasies he quickly pushed out of his mind as soon as he woke. You were far too beneath him. He had other things to focus on. Dreams were just dreams. He had not come all this way, studied and worked so hard--just to besmirch his family name by seeking you out.

You. The only mudblood that had ever held his attention for longer than a moment. A fluke. Then there you were there. Five years gone by without a sight of you. Then you were sitting across from him. In _his home._ The same girl who in one small gasp had ruined him for the wanton noises of all his female company.

But now none of that mattered. In a little over two months, he would need things to be in order. His home needed to be prepared and it would take the best. He had to have you. To work for him.

The weather had been warm that day, when you first crashed back into his life without warning.

  
That morning he had been sweating under the heat of the sun while he worked out. A standard four mile run. The obstacle course. Weight lifting. The same as every day, and then he had showered and dressed in one of his finest suit. Standard preparation to meet with the highly recommended archivist from the AAA. He wore all black, as he did practically every day, and it would be no different for a typical contract negotiation. 

He wasn’t particularly sentimental about his routine, but having one meant having order. Since his father’s passing, the weight of running this household fell onto his shoulders. It was a weight he had been preparing to carry for his whole life. It was all planned out, you see. His entire life. Even his marriage had been arranged for him from childhood.

He had only seen her several times since they were children. Narcissa Black. The youngest of the three Black daughters and the beloved favorite. She had gone to Beauxbatons, sent away from her sisters and family all because she was the favorite of their French grandmother. Her grandmére, the head of the esteemed noble house of Black, had chosen Narcissa to stay with her. Grandmére Celestia also had chosen Narcissa to marry Lucius.

And so Andromeda and Bellatrix had been jealous of their younger sister their entire life. They had practically thrown themselves at Lucius back in Hogwarts, trying desperately to sway him to them instead.

He was never interested. Not in any of them. It wasn’t sentimental, the arrangement he had with Narcissa. She was beautiful, adequately raised and the best poised to bear him an heir. In the meantime, Lucius had never been lacking for willing female company. There were plenty of young pureblood women desperate for his attention. But women at his social level were typically silly in their infatuations. More than often, they were after his money-- and _none of them dared_ to disagree with him or to displease him for any reason. It was all dreadfully boring. They had all been far too eager to bend over backwards for him. Literally.

Still, he never let himself get trapped in a silly, nonsensical romance. It was _just sex._ With extensive protection of course. Not just _anyone_ was fit to bear a Malfoy heir. Eventually Narcissa would return from Paris for good and they would be married someday. It was simple.

It had been ‘someday’ for so long, that it hardly seemed real that the nuptials were due in just two months time. The matriarch of the Black family had fallen ill. It was now her dying wish that they were to be wed.

He made plans to prepare for Narcissa’s arrival years ago, but now time was running out for both of them to put it off. They had never been in a hurry. Once they were married, she would be his company in the Manor for the rest of their lives. It wasn't sentimental, but it was his duty to provide adequate accommodations for her. He tried not to think about it often. When he did, he reminded himself that she was beautiful and she was clever. She was a perfectly adequate life partner.

Narcissa Black. His future partner in running the Malfoy household. He only needed to think of it like a business transaction.

It was all figured out, no more hesitations. Then you showed up. There you were, sitting in his office, and he suddenly had very different plans- at least for the next two months.

Two months was a relatively short time to prepare an estate for a new lady of the house. As you sat across from him, sassing him, the cogs in Lucius’s mind began to turn. He hadn’t forgotten your slight against him in seventh year. And he certainly didn’t allow women of your blood status to speak to him as you were right then.

So he decided to give you an impossible job. While he had initially planned to hire your entire office for the work in the library, he thought he would bring you down a few notches by setting you up to fail.

He _had_ promised you payback, afterall. He looked at you up and down and then back up again, drinking in your figure. You had really become a force of a woman. Beautiful curves, delicate features and red, pouty lips.

And, what a sassy, impertinent mouth you had. He knew just what to do with you. He needed the distraction anyway. And the way you looked at him, he was well aware of what was on your mind. Two months. Yes. It was enough time to break you and bend you to his will. When he was finished with you, you would know your place as the filthy little mudblood you were.

And then he could finally put you out of his mind.

For now he would sit, freshly showered, in a quiet corner of the conservatory. One where he could not be bothered by you. One where he could get some peace and quiet before the day began and he was needed for everything. It was a constant stream of owls. His servants, the seedy employees of his father’s business- both were often grossly incompetent.

More than anything, Lucius just wanted a moment of nothingness. Call it medication or fresh air, Lucius simply did not want to be bothered.

He saw you from across the garden, and already his hackles were raised. Thus, he resigned himself to remain put. To the casual observer, he appeared to wait gracefully like a jungle cat spotting it’s prey from a mile away. He would wait and see how things played out. There you were, in a little black dress that was _just shy_ of indecent. Even from a distance he could make out every supple curve of your body. Your face was shaded by a dainty black lace parasol.

Black. You always wore black. One of the only things you had in common.

Lucius watched from the glass pane as you leaned over a rose bush, lifting a delicate red bud to your nose. How curious. From this angle it almost appeared as if you were gazing in the direction of the Library. He could only let his mind imagine why.

But you weren’t looking at the library.

You were looking about the obstacle course, trying to find him. You strolled the length of the gardens, angling towards the exercise center, but still you didn’t see him anywhere. As far as you knew, he wasn’t outside working out. Maybe he didn’t exercise daily? Or he did-- but at different times?

He didn’t seem the type to break routine.

Alas, it was time to give up your search. You started towards the back doors of the Manor’s patio when a large glass building caught your eye. It was rather pretty. Much like the sunroom, it seemed filled to the brim with plants. It was on the side of the West wing, but well, this was _outdoors_ after all. It couldn’t hurt to take a peek.

The door was ajar, and you worried for a moment that a servant or house elf would catch you sneaking inside. Instead, you are delighted to hear the chirping of several colorful birds who flutter about above you.

The inside of the conservatory has been charmed to be even taller and wider than it appears from the outside. The climate indoors is a tiny bit humid, but not uncomfortably so. The air is thick with the fresh, earthy scent of the trees and flowers inside. It’s magnificent, much better than the shoddy old outdated herbology classrooms you thought of when you saw the glass from afar. Faintly, it reminded you of the feeling you used to get from the Hufflepuff common room. Giddily, you follow the red and yellow tropical birds inside deeper.

“Hello?” You call out, but only silence greets you in return. Perfect.

The trees are thicker inside, only the filtered sunlight that trickles down between the leaves guides you. In the center there is a large circular fountain and flowers everywhere. Dahlias, lilies and hibiscus frame the beautiful tile mosaic of the fountain effortlessly. A beautiful blue tile bench tempts you to sit and enjoy the scenery, but before you can, a flourish of butterflies swirl about you in the air. Suddenly in the small beams of sunlight are the bright blues and vivid oranges of the little creatures as they flutter through the air.

You laugh in exhilaration as they move about, to the left and then upwards past the trees until they are out of sight. You continue down the central path, following the sound of more chirping. Just how many birds are there in here? Ahead, you finally find the source of the sound. There’s a little clearing of trees with at least ten little cockatiels.

A giddy smile stretches across your face as the little blush-cheeked birds watch you from where they are perched. A tiny yellow cockatiel watches you from a low hanging branch, turning side to side and twisting its head about to scope you out.

“Well hello there.” You greet it softly. It fluffs its wings, preparing for flight. “I wasn’t expecting to find such a lovely creature as yourself in this stuffy old place.”

You hold out your finger and gently lift it towards the branch.

It flutters down to you and your heart leaps in excitement as it rests upon your finger. It looks at you closely, and you’re part thrilled it chose you and part worried it will choose to defecate on one of your nicest outfits.

“How do you do?” You ask it, gently raising your finger up towards you.

“Fine, thank you.” A low purr of a baritone answers from behind you, and you startle. The cockatiel flutters off your finger into the higher branches.

Heart pounding, you turn around and find Lucius Malfoy standing over you, and he looks highly amused. Actually, he’s standing inches from you and he looks positively smug.

“Hello.” You blush. “I-“

“I believe I requested that you stay to the east wing of the manor, Did I not?” Lucius says, smirking. Is it possible to feel a voice? His deep voice seems to caress you. “And... _stuffy old place_? Really, now.” He tuts, eyes boring into yours with that glint you can’t seem to place. Is it… mischief?

You don’t let him fluster you. Well, you try not to let him. Your stomach is fluttering like the beautiful monarchs you had seen a few minutes prior.

“Well you didn’t actually specify anything about areas of the grounds.” You say, ignoring the slight shaky quality of your voice and the embarrassment of being overheard. You also try not to think about the way he’s practically undressing you with his eyes. Or how those same eyes seem to have a mischievous glint that you might find even sexier than the angry one.

No, those kinds of thoughts were dangerous to have about a man such as this, even though you wanted him.

In his silence, you continue. “This might be the loveliest place in your entire home, Mr. Malfoy. I would be sad to discover that I might not be free to come here as often as I like.” You dare to brush your arm against his lightly as you pass him. You don’t have to look back to know that he has turned to face you, following you with his eyes. And then his feet.

You approach a planter further down the path and enact the first stage of your plan. The enticement. You trail a finger along a pale pink blossom in interest. And then you continue deeper. You come across an odd looking tree. It has a long thin trunk, but the top branches are in little tuffs that fan out in small spiky puffs of green.

“This is an interesting one.” You say, merely testing to see if Lucius will speak, or if he’s even still standing there with you.

“It’s Moroccan. Dracaena Draco.” He says, almost in your ear. _Eek!_ When did he get so close? His breath fans against your ear, sending a delightful shiver down your spine. But when you look over your shoulder- he’s already gone. His footsteps fall on the other side of you as he stands at your left side, joining you in ‘admiring’ the tree.

This is all a game, and you’re well aware of it. A game of cat and mouse. It thrills you. Maybe this seduction would be easier than you thought. If all signals were as they seemed, Lucius was attracted to you. He was even giving you his attention willingly. You hope you don’t let it slip too soon.

“The serpent tree? Hmm.” You say. “How fitting. I rather like it.”

His eyes glance towards you, and a corner of his full lips turns up into a mocking smirk. “The dragon tree, actually.” He corrects you.

“Oh, dragon, serpent. No matter. I still like the name.” You answer with a playful smile. “ _Draco._ How perfectly dramatic.”

A real smile almost flashes across his face. At least you think it does. Even for a fraction of a second, it feels victorious to be basked in such a beautiful white smile. And then it’s gone. Lucius still nods, sighing.

“Yes, dramatic indeed” He responds.

His lips twitch upward, and his hand comes up as he strokes his chin. He seems like he wanted to say something but thought better of it.

“What is it?” You grin in delight of uncovering something about this mysterious man. You can’t help but betray your curiosity.

He turns his body towards you and disarms you with his pale blue gaze. You feel yourself holding in a breath and feeling the fluttering in your stomach intensify. To have his full attention, it sent warm waves of desire to your core. It was something no other man could make you feel by a look alone.

“Draco,” He says in a slow drawl. “Was my grandfather’s name.” He lets you regain your right mind, stepping around you and heading into another corner.

Now you have no choice but to exit or to follow him. You should exit. You should avoid him and get to work. You shouldn’t let him lead in this game. It's too dangerous to let him have the upper hand, but you’re drawn to him.

Taking the bait, you follow him into an alcove in the far corner of the conservatory.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius gives you whiplash.

**This corner of the conservatory is darker, dimmer.** The only light comes from above and a few tiny floating lanterns illuminating the path as you follow it. You trail behind Lucius all the way to the end, at last arriving at the final corner of this massive greenhouse.

He comes to a stop in front of a large open expanse of glass, body going somehow even more rigid than it’s usual stiff posture. From the window view around his tall, broad figure, you can see the gardens below. The view stretches all the way up to the other side of the manor. You had just been walking those grounds, looking for him. Had he seen you earlier?

You stand at his side, eyeing his profile in admiration. A strong, sharp nose and jawline. Full, plush lips… Even his hands are attractive as they flex and close into tight fists.

You begin to feel a bit smug at how easily he had joined in with your playful banter. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. Underneath that cold, icy exterior, did Lucius Malfoy have… a sense of humor?

"What was your grandfather like?" You ask, continuing the conversation, since he seemed in good enough humor. But he stiffens, turning to face you.

“Why... are you _following_ me?” He snaps, any trace of amusement gone from his cold gaze.

“I-I…?” You have whiplash from his sudden change in mood. “I thought… Well, we _were_ speaking just now.” You add, lamely.

As if he hadn’t been present for the past few minutes himself. Did he mean the way you had been looking for him on the grounds earlier or did he mean right now, in the conservatory?

“Do you know _why_ I have hired you, Miss Hyde?” He asks, and there’s that strange glint you’ve come to recognize as challenging in his eyes.

“To organize your library and ledgers,” You reply without a beat. “Right?”

The corner of his lips lifts into a smirk. “Indeed, Miss Hyde.” He says, taking a measured step towards you. “Although more specifically, I mean why I hired _only you_ … do you know the reason?”

Your forehead creases, looking up at his sharp, chiseled features in confusion. Was there another reason beyond the contract? If so, you were definitely unaware. You had your private hopes as to what he could be alluding to, but surely those were off base.

“The _only_ reason why you are under my employ...at all, is because I was previously unaware that your office employed low-class, silly minded mudbloods.” He sneers in an icy tone. "It was a mistake."

A lump forms in your throat. There it was, again. Mudblood. Why did that word suddenly cut deep? It was the first time it had such an effect since you had first heard it as a small eleven-year old girl at school.

It was probably because it came from his full, sensual lips. Lips like those shouldn’t be capable of such cruelty. Immediately, you remind yourself that that is precisely how he had always seen you. A mudblood.

Indeed, you _had_ been quite silly-minded to assume he would say or think anything otherwise. As if defending yourself from him, you take a step backwards. He does not follow, posture rigid, as if he were a sneering statue, carved from marble.

For a moment, you can’t speak. You are so confused and hurt… He fills the silence for you.

“The reason I still hired you, and only you, little mudblood... is simple. I want _to watch you fail_ , so that your office might be rid of your general incompetence at once.” He continues, “I did not hire you for _conversation._ I have plenty of suitable company for such trifles, and I will not _ever_ require it from you.”

“I beg your pardon?” You snap, now well and truly offended. So many questions raced through your mind all at once.

Where on earth had the playful banter gone? Why the sudden change in tone?

Had you been imagining his attraction to you--the small amount of humor you had detected in his words from before?

He had changed his demeanor so suddenly... Was it something you said?

And most of all, you wondered… _how dare he?_

“Furthermore,” He says, eyes glinting with fury. “You would do well during your short time here to dress _appropriately_ for the job you have been given. Do I make myself clear?” His voice drops into a lower, threatening tone.

His eyes travel downwards, lingering on your body for a moment before he shakes his head, looking away. His chin points away to the window. Oh, so he was just going to ogle you right after berating your outfit choice and degrading you with his words. _Great._

That’s it. Now, you’re angry. Enraged, even.

“Crystal.” You respond through gritted teeth. You tell yourself that you need to calm down. You feel like slapping him across his pretty face, and that certainly won’t go over well at the office. “Is that all?”

“No” He responds sharply, turning back to look you in the eyes. He lingers for a moment before clearing his throat. “You may take your meals in the servants’ dining quarters from this day forward.”

_Inhale. Don’t assault your boss. Exhale. Don’t lose your cool. Inhale. Don’t sink to his level. With a last, exhale, you square your shoulders._

“Perfect.” You say, placing a composed, polite smile on your face although you can’t bear being in his presence for a moment longer. You actually might start crying because you’re so angry. You doubt that your smile looks genuine, but it’s all you can manage. “Goodbye, Lucius.”

With that, you turn on your heel, making your way across the path to the exit. You tug on the doors but they are locked. You know he sees this. You’re too enraged to be embarrassed. Huffing, you change directions and speed-walk to the other end of the conservatory, back to the door that you had used to enter.

When the crisp, outdoor air hits you, you feel the tension in your shoulders ease. It was too humid in there, the air too thick when you stood in front of him. It had clouded your mind. You had imagined things, surely.

There was no attraction between you two, like you first had imagined. He had made that much perfectly clear.

Lucius Malfoy was handsome, but he was also the biggest prick you had ever had the displeasure of knowing. His cruel, cutting words had removed all the idiotic, lustful thoughts that had been circulating in your mind. You didn’t _actually_ want him, you tell yourself. What you wanted was to prove him wrong.

Yes. This would be your new plan of action, and this time you would stick to it. Whatever attraction you felt on your end was inconsequential. You would simply use him to advance your career, and then forget about him and this ridiculously large home.

Lucius Malfoy would regret the day he hired you to make a fool of you, you would make sure of it.

Skipping breakfast, you go to your room and pen a quick letter, finding an elf to send it away. Your only hope of finishing this project on time was to ask for help. You couldn’t give details, but you could ask old Madam Wiggins for advice. You really needed help if you wanted to prove Lucius wrong. It was a stretch, but maybe she would give you an idea. This was something you couldn’t fail. Your dignity was on the line.

The way he had just openly insulted you had left you a bit wounded. You’ll admit that much... But it was only because of the attraction you had let yourself feel for him. That was the problem. Any person would want the person they found attractive to find them to be equally attractive. To want their approval. It was perfectly natural.

But now you were resolved to only prove your intelligence and capability, not your ability to seduce him. Lucius Malfoy was unworthy of your seduction. If you could just rid your thoughts of anything so _silly-minded_ , you would be able to finish this contract without any further blips.

You had already taken the first step. An outfit change.

On your way over to the library, you had darted into your room to find your bed made and your things sorted neatly. You thumbed through some folded jumpers in the wardrobe and found your favorite old Puddlemere United crewneck sweatshirt. It was navy, with green letters. You threw it on over your dress, and kicked off your heels in favor of some simple white trainers.

In the mirror, you pinned the top half of your hair up out of your face. There. _Professional._ Casual. It would do.

Then you get back to work, setting a grueling pace for yourself. You need to keep busy, or else you’ll find yourself storming down the hallway to give Lucius a piece of your mind.

In a flurry of angry motivation, you knocked out four shelves of work before lunch. At noon, you waited ten minutes before making your way to the kitchens, so not to run into Lucius. You ate a small lunch of soup and grilled cheese before returning to your work.

A response came from Madam Wiggins at three. She had only written a few spells, not explaining them with much detail. She wished you luck, sending her love. It payed to stay in touch with her after all. One spell seemed to make the quills write much faster. It wasn’t a lot, but it might help. Tomorrow you would try out the others she had sent you on a piece of test paper. Fueled by your meal, a spark of hope, and a renewed motivation to succeed, you finished an entire wall before it was dark.

Time had gotten away from you. Dobby pops up next to you.

“Master requests your presence in the dining room, miss.” He tells you with a small bow.

_What the hell? Has Lucius gone absolutely mad? Has he got two different personalities in his head?_

“You can tell your master that I will eat in the servants quarters. _As he instructed._ ” You wince a bit at the biting tone of your response. Dobby didn’t deserve two hotheads snapping at him. Lucius was probably plenty to handle on his own.

“Er, I will tell master, but he will not be pleased.” Dobby tells you, “Oh no, he won’t…”

Dobby wrings his hands together, shoulders hunched.

“That’s fine, Dobby.” You tell him with a smirk. “I expect he won’t be.”

And that’s exactly what Lucius deserves. Where did he get off inviting you to dinner after what he had said? What happened to him not needing conversation from a 'low-class, silly-minded mudblood'?

You dust off yourself and stand from where you had been sitting on the floor. The anger still hadn’t fizzled out, and you had almost completed at least twenty pages of data entry. The tables in each category had a healthy pile of books to shelve after your meal.

You walked down the steps of the Library, planning in your head how you would begin the next stage of your organization, reshelving. As you contemplated beginning with fictional or non-fictional text, there was a loud pop and Lucius appeared before you. He eyes you suspiciously as you flick your wand and close the notebook you were writing in. You tuck the notebook, containing them letter from Madam Wiggins, into the pocket of your satchel.

He simply stands there, watching you in silence. A new surge of irritation makes your blood boil. What the hell is his problem? Why is he even here?

You rolled your eyes, stepping around him as you walked towards the kitchens. His footsteps follow yours down the hallway, until you take a turn towards the servants dining quarters.

“Are. You. _Lost_?” Comes his cold voice from behind you.

“No, I’m Estella. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” You tell him, dryly. You don’t bother to look back. Whatever his reaction is to your poor attempt at humor, he is rendered briefly speechless.

Yet, his footsteps continue to follow you. When you near the doorway of your intended destination, he speaks again.

“Dobby tells me you have declined my invitation to dinner, is that correct?” He practically spits at you.

You come to an abrupt stop, and he almost barrels right into you. It’s your turn to smirk. You tilt your chin upwards, a gesture of clear defiance.

“That is correct, Mr. Malfoy.”

“And _why_ is that, may I ask?”

You can’t help yourself, really. He keeps setting himself up.

“You may not.” You retort, dropping your gaze briefly to his chest, which is more at your eye level.. You’re irritable, sure, but you’re not _that_ brave… To face the fury in his gaze.

“I... beg your pardon?” He almost whispers in furious disbelief. He physically takes a step backwards, eyeing you as if you’ve grown two heads. You want to smile smugly, but you’re walking a thin line. You just want to push his buttons, not get yourself fired.

Taking a deep breath, you adjust your response. Editing a few choice words, you say:

“You know, this is a lot of conversation for someone who made it abundantly clear they wouldn’t ' _ever'_ require it from me.”

He chuckles humorlessly. He runs a hand through his pale blond hair, and you have to physically turn your head away to keep yourself from ogling his disheveled mane.

 _Bad!_ You scold yourself internally. _He is not sexy, he’s an asshole._

“Yes, you’re right. I only require your insolent mouth to open when _I initiate it._ ” He tells you, both sparking your rage and confirming your internal monologue. “Such as so, I will unfortunately need you to speak in order to follow through with the biweekly progress updates that you agreed to in your contract to attend... At any point I request them.”

Your gaze finally snaps up to his. “I didn’t agree to-”

“Oh but you did.” He smirks wickedly, “Article four, item three.”

You open and close your mouth, resigning yourself to scowl up at his stupid, handsome face.

“Now try not to look so sullen, Miss Hyde.” He says, subtly standing taller now. “You’ll put me off my dinner with the way you’re twisting your face about. Come now, _follow me._ ”


	8. Chapter 8

**That… that _snake!_ Now this is personal. No. Now this is _war._** Fuming silently, you regain your composure enough to turn around and march right over to him. You don’t bother to hide the scowl on your face as you do, though. When Lucius doesn’t move, you find yourself snapping in irritation.

“Well, are you going to show me the way _or not_?” You ask through gritted teeth.

He arches a perfectly full brow as he sneers down at you.

“You will do well to _watch your tone_ when speaking to me, Miss Hyde.” He snaps back.

You scoff, “I don’t believe that watching my tone is at all required of me _‘in my contract’_ , Mr. Malfoy.”

He takes a threatening step towards you. “You will _not_ speak to me in such a manner.”

“I will for as long as you do.” You retort, lifting your chin in defiance. “Don’t think I have forgotten your slight against me this morning, Mr. Malfoy. Are you typically this horrible to all your workers, or have I earned special treatment somehow?”

His eyes twinkle with a strange, angry delight as he leans down to look you in the eye.

“Believe me, Miss Hyde, there is not one thing about you that is _special._ ”

Your eyes are glued to his lips, which are closer than they have ever been. A blink grounds you back to reality. Rolling your eyes away, you shrug.

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong. I am, at the very least, _especially_ hungry. So if you will show me the way before they begin serving breakfast…”

His eyes bore into yours, his blue eyes going especially cold.

“You _little_ -”

A clearing of a throat has both of you taking a hurried step backwards to create distance. Dobby stands in the far archway, bowing slightly as you both turn to him.

“S-sorry, master, to interrupt.” He mumbles, clearing his throat again. “Dinner is now served.”

Lucius exhales sharply, stalking away past the elf without a word. Dobby gives you a pointed look, nodding timidly in his master's direction. Then he vanishes, leaving you almost jogging to catch up with Lucius.

When Lucius finally stops in front of a large ornate door, he looks down at you. You are a tad out of breath from your jog, his _leisurely stroll_ across the manor.

He gives you an unimpressed look, but his eyes twinkle mischievously.

The doors open for you on their own, and you are greeted with a grand, bronze dining room. There is a comically large dining table, which stretches across the long room. It reminds you of the long tables in the great hall, although it feels a bit sad and empty in comparison. There are only two place settings. One at the head of the table and the other a few seats away to the left.

In your head, you imagine how Lucius would react if you sat in his seat at the head of the table. He might have an aneurysm or something.

You smile to yourself at this thought, and approach the chair on the left. The chair, identical to all the others, is elegantly carved with filigree, and furnished with deep scarlet cushions. The chair pulls out for you and then pushes itself closer. You stare straight forward, not even bothering to seek eye contact with _him_

If there were such a pageant, Lucius would easily win the title of ‘most irritating man alive’. There wouldn’t even be much competition. He was easily _the worst._

Food is served to you, and you stare at it warily. A plate with sort of shiny shells and a greyish gooey substance in each.

“They’re oysters.” Lucius tells you, confirming your suspicion.

As if it was particularly difficult to figure out. Why is it that pompous men always felt they needed to explain everything obvious to women?

No matter, there’s no way you’re having those anywhere near your mouth. They smell odd. You take a last lingering glance at the slimy filled shells before turning your head towards the devil incarnate himself. You smile politely at him and pointedly push the plate away from you.

“No thank you.” Your stomach churns at the thought of consuming something so… gooey.

His face falls into a bemused scowl.

“They are the best oysters in all of England, I assure you.”

“Considered me assured, Mr. Malfoy.” Before he can blow a vein in his forehead, you add, “I am simply not a fan of seafood. We can wait until you’re finished eating and discuss whatever you like. I won’t be eating anything that smells of the sea.”

Lucius shakes his head, looking at you oddly, “This is nothing like your village fish and chips, Miss Hyde, this is the best quality seafood available.”

“I imagine so.” You smile politely, letting a bit of condescension slip into your tone, “Though I live in _London_ not a village... please don’t mind me and my obviously unrefined tastes... I can wait for something a bit more edible. Or nothing at all.”

“If you insist.” He nods, bringing an oyster to his lips. His pale throat bobs as he swallows, and you turn your gaze away.

Nope. _You aren’t thinking about your attraction to him, remember?_

He says nothing further as he finishes his plate. As you wait, you stare straight ahead, studying the painting on the wall opposite you in a foul mood. You’re quite hungry. A minute feels like ten. After the wall gets boring, you study the chandelier. Lucius seems to be taking his sweet time, but you don’t say anything.

Just because you were required to dine with him, it didn’t mean you had to speak to him. It was probably better you didn’t so you didn’t give him the piece of your mind that you have been _dying_ to give him since this morning.

Finally, you are served a bowl of soup, which smells wonderful. He eyes you curiously as you take what you hope is the proper spoon and dig in. You remember the basics of sitting up straight and keeping your elbows from the tabletop. What else...

See, there were a few useful bits of table etiquette that you had picked up in your recent years dining with your clients. As snobby and rich as they were, they weren’t above pointing out any mistakes you made while fine dining. They likely considered it a generosity to help train you. Typical purebloods. At least when they were alone, they were much kinder than when they were in a group.

The same could _not_ be said for the man sitting at the table with you.

You tilt the spoon away from you in the bowl and fill it, then raise it to your lips. It takes all the steadiness you can manage in your wrist not to spill it in your lap as you raise it to your mouth. The only reason you don’t hunch over as if you’re inhaling a bowl of cereal on your couch is because you have determined yourself to show your mental aptitude. It wouldn’t do to devour the bowl like a commoner in front of your sworn enemy.

You can’t show weakness or inadequacy in front of Lucius, because he will take it and run with it- decimating your pride in the process. This was war, after all.

You sigh aloud at the taste of the soup. It’s rich and full of flavor. You savor every drop, but leave a bit at the end because you shouldn’t scrape desperately at the bowl-- that’s one of the tidbits you remember. You don’t plan to slip up in front of Lucius _sodding_ Malfoy. When your bowl is taken away, you are served your entree. It is chicken of some sort, with rice. Finally, something substantial and edible! You want to do a happy dance. Before you can dig in, Lucius speaks.

“So, Miss Hyde,” He says in a decidedly casual air, “How is your work coming along?”

“Fine, thank you.” You tell him, “I finished one of the main walls on the first floor today.” You reach for a fork.

His eyebrows lift a miniscule fraction. “Did you?”

You nod. “I did.” You hesitate, wanting to dig in.

“That’s… good.” He says, a bit reluctantly.

Ugh. Was this a bit awkward? When you weren’t up in each other’s faces, hating one another… what did you even have in common to talk about? And _of course_ he chooses now to be chatty. He was probably doing it on purpose.

“And are your accommodations… satisfactory?”

A bewildered look passes across your face before you can form a response. He was giving you whiplash at this point. After his harsh words, you don't feel like small talk. Can't you both just eat and silence? It still made no sense why you had to have these biweekly 'meetings' over dinner if he despised you so much for simply being a mudblood.

“Er, yes. Thanks.” You tell him, looking longingly at your plate. “The walls are actually my favorite color, so it’s quite nice being in the room you chose for me.”

“I didn’t choose it.” He tells you, “My house elf prepared a room and simply told me which one.”

Oh. Okay? “Right.” You nod, turning your attention back to the painting on the wall as you chew your first bite. What nice, expressive brushwork. Lovely warm colors… Maybe if you don't make eye contact with the bastard, he'll finally let you eat.

It seems to work in your favor. Silently, you both consume your entree. The portions are smartly designed not to fill you, but you’re getting there. Just a few more bites to freedom.

“Would you... like a glass of wine?” He offers you.

You squint, eyeing him warily for a moment. It seems like a genuinely hospitable gesture. Very well, then.

“Has anyone ever said no to that question?” You give him a sly smile and he surprises you by laughing, as if he expected you to object outright, not sass him.

It’s a brief, deep chuckle, but it stirs something warm inside of your chest. _Ahhh! No. Bad thoughts. His laugh is NOT attractive._

You flush a bit, shaking your head as if to expel such things from your mind. He reaches into his pocket and flicks his wand. The bottle carefully pours you a glass. It’s all a bit enchanting, watching him do magic. The way his long fingers grip the wand and flourish it... He gives you a knowing smirk as he catches you staring.

You blink, turning your wayward thoughts to the chilled glass in front of you. He watches as you take a sip. You try not to think about him, focusing on the flavors in the glass. Hmm. It’s light and crisp. Not nearly as awful as drugstore chardonnay, that was for sure.

“Thank you.” You say. “I usually prefer red, but this goes much better-”

“With the chicken?” He finishes your thoughts for you, and you nod in agreement.

“No, indeed.” He nods, taking a sip from his own glass. “In fact… I, too, prefer red. This was a gift from a French viscount.”

“Hmm.” You respond, unsure of what else you could possibly say. His fancy acquaintances made no sort of impression on you. Rich people were all arrogant pricks, as far as you knew.

Big deal. So you and Lucius have one whole thing in common... You both liked red wine and you both wore black quite often. So did most people. It wasn’t groundbreaking. Well, even if he was impressed by your wine preferences, you knew that any common ground was likely negated in his mind by the fact that you didn’t know any viscounts. So there. You were already two steps ahead of him, in case he wanted to be condescending . Yes, you get your wine from the corner grocery store and you’ll always be a mudblood to him. So what?

You hold your head high. So what if you had been deluded to think otherwise? You were over that now, you remind yourself.  
He and you would still be too different from one another to ever get along, or to stand each other's presence. So what was his game? Why the dinner?

He was being awfully agreeable for someone who had looked so menacing just an hour ago. So tame and polite for someone who had ruthlessly insulted you in the morning. It seems to you now, a very real possibility that Lucius has two personalities in that handsome head of his.

His head. His regular head with the square jaw the sharp cheekbones.

Perhaps his game is to throw you off. You don’t know how to take polite Lucius after his earlier tirade, so you fall into silence as dessert is served. It's some kind of cinnamon-y crumble apple dessert and it’s delicious. It has a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side, melting into the crumble. It’s so good, and you finish the plate as much as possible without scraping.

Not waiting for him, you stand, excusing yourself.

“I should get to bed. Thanks for dinner, Mr. Malfoy.”

He nods once, eyeing you curiously and you leave back the way you came.

At night, the hallways are dimmer, lit only by candlelight in a way that reminds you of Hogwarts. The flickering orange light reflects off the shiny stone floor and creates a soft ambiance. You head back in the direction you came, or at least you think. Perhaps it's the glass of wine, or the face that all the grand hallways have begun to look the same. You're pretty sure, though.  
It's nicer walking alone. While on your way to dinner, Lucius had walked so briskly you were out of breath following him. This time you get to stroll at a leisurely pace and enjoy the ornate hallways.

In your slow walk back to the room, you come across something truly lovely, a fountain. You must have missed it on the way to dinner while you kept up with Lucius's long strides. You pause in admiration of the white stone and the soft tinkling of the falling water. It entrances you for a minute or two as you admire it. It’s really a shame… This enormous home has so many remarkable works of art, yet it is so devoid of anyone to admire it all.

You couldn’t imagine living in a home like this and taking any of it for granted. The Malfoy Manor... was beyond even the most audacious rumors. It was more marvelous than any modern art museum, more tasteful and elegant than even the royal palace, probably. Wealth ensured luxury, but not taste. The Malfoy Manor was the rare exception of artistic quality over quantity. There was no lack for decor, but it was all expertly chosen and curated, that much was clear.

Though you despised the values of the Purebloods, you can easily see how the benefits of their monopoly on many trades has profited them enough to earn them such extravagance. You can’t even wrap your head around the wealth that the Malfoy family must have acquired through generations.

“My great grandmother had that fountain built in the late 19th century.” His voice behind you startles you a bit, but you smile politely. “Just as she did the one in the conservatory.”

“Well, she had excellent taste.” You offer, still completely thrown off by his unpredictable moods. "It's beautiful."

You back away from Lucius and the fountain, deciding not to push your luck for the evening.

“Going so soon?” He asks, eyes going hooded as he looks you over. 

“Yes, I’d better be off to bed…” You say, rooted on the spot by his magnetic gaze. 

“Wait.” He said, taking a few measured steps to you. You frown up at him, held captive by his eyes.

“What is it?” You whisper, gulping.

“You… forgot your bag.” He said lifting the strap up, eyeing your brown leather satchel with open distaste.

What? How hadn’t you noticed that you had left it? You had been in quite a hurry to leave from the dinner table…

You take it from him, mumbling your thanks despite his scowl.

"Next time you dine with me, do well to leave that scraggly old thing behind, Miss Hyde." He says, smirking cruelly at you.

Oh, this was too much. After all the mind games, the insults, all in one day no less, you can't help but snap back at him.

“You may look down on me for my blood status, my things, or the way I dress... but at least I am _self-made._ ” You raise your chin and meet his sharp gaze with a fierce scowl. “That’s something you’ll never accomplish. Keep that in mind next time you attempt to insult me.”

Satisfied with your short speech, you turn and walk away.

“You’re going in the wrong direction.” He tells you, and you freeze.

 _Oh, for the love of Pygmy Puffs! Can this day be over already?_ You can’t bear the smug grin on his perfectly symmetrical face. A five-o'clock shadow forms a stubble on his pale skin, and it's infuriatingly enticing. His pale silky hair looking so soft and tousled from the day, like he's been running a hand through it.

"Okay, so just tell me which direction to go in." You tug the sleeves of your jumper over your hands to hide how they have balled into fists.

“I would, but I'm afraid that this…" He gestures around you, " is the West Wing, Miss Hyde. Do you know what that means?”

“Er… hmm. That your prejudiced ancestors would be rolling in their graves if they saw me here?” You ask, grinning at your own joke.

“Charming." He answers your smile with a smirk that looks a bit evil. Uh, why was he looking at you like that? "Indeed they would. Especially if they saw a lowly mudblood coveting what once was theirs-”

“I was not _coveting_.” You correct him, “Trust me, I don’t desire anything of yours, Mr. Malfoy.”

Ha. Not bad. This wine was certainly making you feel brave. You almost sounded like him.

“Ah,” He says, “Then what were you doing, may I ask?”

“Admiring the art, of course.” You tell him, rolling your eyes. “My admiration for art is completely separate from the _disdain_ I feel for you.”

“Is. that. So?” He whispers clearly. When did he start standing so closely? Where was Dobby now when you needed him for an interruption? “How brave of you to show such a blatant disrespect for someone who employs you.”

“Yes, well, why _should_ I respect you? ” You ask, emboldened against all logic. You don’t care if he fires you anymore. By all means, you’re going to give him a piece of your mind.  
“You think you are so high and mighty, but you were born rich. You expect my respect simply due to the circumstances of your birth, but that's not how it works. The true measure of a respectable man is his kindness and generosity. Those are qualities which you are most certainly lacking.”

“Poor thing. You just desperately want your opinion to matter, don’t you? ” He says, smiling cruelly. “It's sad, isn't it? You’re just another classless mudblood... _harlot_ proving the inadequacy of muggleborns. I suppose you believe that you deserve respect, parading about as you do.”

“A harlot?” You scoff, laughing. Of all the insults, that was the most ridiculous.

He was resulting to low blows, so you knew you had the upper hand.

You square your shoulders, looking boldly into his eyes “And you want me to respect someone like you who results in outdated, misogynistic insults...? Ha, that will be the day!”

“Yes, I said _a harlot_ ,” He steps impossibly closer, face flushing slightly in anger or something else... “Walking around in these tight little black dresses.”  
His fingertips trail along your oversized jumper and tugs on the bottom hem, pulling you closer.

You flush in anger and shock. Your black dresses... What did that have to do with anything? Your heart skips a beat, but then pounds fiercely again in anger… just anger! Only anger.

“Who even talks like that.. _Harlot_?” You look him up and down in judgement, and amusement. “You sound older than the ghosts at Hogwarts.”

“Yes, Miss Hyde.” He says, hooded eyes looking down at your jumper which he gathers in his tight fist. " _Harlot_." The distance between you is a fraction of a centimeter, surely.

There are more important things at hand, though. He had pretty much called you a prostitute. How insulting!

“Well, what’s the problem with a harlot in your mind anyway? Isn't a harlot simply a woman who enjoys sex?” You lift your chin at him in defiance. His eyes drop below your eyes, down your body, before snapping back to stare off with you. “Then certainly, call me a harlot. I do enjoy sex, but that has nothing to do with the way I dress. Trust me, my outfits are not any sort of invitation, especially to the likes of you, Malfoy.”

He grins down at you in a way that feels both predatory and delicious. His full sensual lips press into a line, and then purse as he stares down at you.

“You give your opinion quite passionately, quite... _lengthily,_ for someone so low in status.”

“My status?” You shake your head, taking take a step backwards. His hand finally releases your jumper. Why is the air so thick in here? It's like you can't breathe. “Oh, _please._ Here we go again. It’s always about my status, isn’t it? Why do you care so much about my bloody status?”

“I don’t!” He scoffs. “It’s no matter to me what you are. I don't give you much thought at all, Miss Hyde. Not you, nor any other mud bloods I have had the displeasure of meeting. I am only speaking to you out of necessity”

Really? Is that why he is all up in your face, too, then?

“Well then, if that’s all.” You roll your eyes. “I’ll be going to bed.”

“That’s not all!” He closes the distance again, a fierce, determined look in his eyes.

You stare up at him expectantly. He exhales sharply, then runs a hand through his hair.

“By entering this wing of my home, you are in direct violation of your contract. You are fired.”

“Wonderful!” You snap. “I don’t want to work here anyway! You’re insufferable and an even bigger git than you were back in school.”

Part of you wants to celebrate, and part of you wants to do something physical, like slap him. He glowers at you, hair all ruffled and sexy. _Messed up! Not sexy._

“And I see you’re even more sassy and smart-mouthed than ever before.” He says, grumbling lowly.

“Is that right?”

“Yes, it is.”

You scoff, “Well good luck getting your Library finished in two months, you miserable toad.”

His lips twitched upwards, like he wanted to smile, but he quickly set his face in a neutral expression. Crossing his arms across his chest, he leans down to look you dead in the eyes.

“Good luck keeping your job when I tell the company's founder about your lack of performance.” He retorts, sounding much calmer and composed.

“My what?!” You gasp. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh but I would.” He stands back up straight, smug as ever.

“You know what?" You laugh, "I don’t care. Do it. I’ll give you the pen and paper myself.” Before he can retort, you keep going. “Do you need a pompous, peacock-feathered quill or will a regular fountain pen do? In case you can’t remove the wand up your arse for such a task, I can happily write the letter for you.”

“You are deranged. You must be, to speak to me this way.” He whispers, face contorted in an poor attempt to remain composed. His lips twitch upwards. He looks torn between laughing and strangling you. “I should have you removed from my home this instant.”

“Well," You shrug, "No one is stopping you. Point me in the direction of my room and I will gather my things and be out of your ridiculously long hair in the next five minutes.”

“You think my hair is ridiculously long?” His eyes twinkle with what looks like amusement, and he purses his lips. “Well I must say, I’m wounded.” His lips stretch into a wicked grin.

Is he freaking kidding you? Why is he smiling about this. It isn’t funny!

“Yeah, and it’s too shiny. It’s not normal.” Uh… His face is like an inch from yours. You blink, leaning away so you can think straight. It doesn't do you much help. “You should get that looked at.”

“Oh?” He says, smirking. “Is that all, Miss Hyde?”

“No. Also where is my room so I can leave already?”

“I will show you.” He tells you, “And then I will show you _out_.”

“Perfect.” You agree.

And that's how you end up following him, again.


	9. Chapter 9

**It was a matter of self-control.** Lucius didn’t understand why he had allowed himself to snap so easily. Maybe it was because no one had ever dared to instigate and antagonize him to that point before. Yet there you were, pushing his buttons until he couldn’t help himself.

You had gotten under his skin too easily with the remark about him never being able to become self-made. It’s exactly what all of his adversaries believed about him, too. It’s what most people thought they knew about the Malfoys, that they were all spoiled and witless.

But they were wrong, all of them.

Each generation of his family was expected to build upon what was given to them. His whole life, Lucius knew this. But how did you build upon something so grand as the Malfoy family business? How should one attempt to improve their extravagant manor or the spotless reputation of the household?

It was no simple task to take something that was perfect and try to make better without ruining it. Even Lucius knew that things were likely as good as they ever would be. He knew that any minute, it all could come crashing down, and it would be his fault. That he would be the downfall of the esteemed legacy of all Malfoys.

It often made him lose sleep, but it was a weakness he could never show. Self doubt was a dangerous chip in his armor, and he needed to crush it before it was out of control.

He needed to reign himself in. To have control again. He _did_ know how to be a polite gentleman, but something about you drove him to the point of madness. One minor jab at his ego and he had just as soon forgotten all of his manners, all of his control over the situation. It was not him. He was slipping, and that wouldn’t do.

He had to draw some line of what type of disrespect was unacceptable, but firing you had been an impulse. Impulses were not something that Malfoy men ever indulged in, and he needed to correct it at once. Impulses were a weakness.

It wouldn’t do to have you leaving so soon after arriving.

If you weren’t around, he couldn’t exactly bend you to his will, could you? Then again, maybe it would be for the best. You were stirring up emotions inside him that he didn’t know what to do with. His fingertips had been drawn to that dark blue Puddlemere sweater like magnets, his arms pulling you tightly to him of their own accord. It was as if his body knew some truth that his mind hadn’t accepted.

Or he was losing his mind. In two months time, he would be married to someone who fit perfectly into his life plan. He needed to get it together. To have you so he could forget you.

Who knew what kind of trouble you could stir up in such a short time? It seemed he couldn’t keep himself away from you for even a day. He had even invented a clause of your contract just to bring you to dinner.

You, a gullible little Hufflepuff. A temptress, enticing him with your expressive eyes and your lithe body in those tight black dresses. Even in a frumpy sweater and a scowl on your face you looked so _damn_ good to him. His ideal woman from head to toe. Like something out of a daydream-- not that he ever allowed himself such ridiculous fantasies.

He shouldn’t think of you at all beyond your blood status, but he was only a man, after all.

You couldn’t have known this, but Puddlemere United was Lucius’s favorite quidditch team. He even had the same sweater that you were wearing now. His sweater, however, was only worn in exercise during the winter, _never_ around the home for comfort. Seeing you in such a large, oversized sweater, though… well his mind started to imagine that it was _his_ sweater you were wearing.

His mind invented images of you in _only_ his sweater, lounging about his home, giving him that sly smile that drove him mad. But why was he fantasizing about you in any other way than to think of ways to punish you for being so insolent, for lacking the proper respect? It was all spiraling out of control, and he needed to regain control, _fast._.

By firing you, he had lost all control. This was a mistake, and he needed to fix it. Before you left the Manor. But how? His mind was sprinting with the effort to solve the problem before you both reached your room.

You follow Lucius, blood still boiling from your argument. You felt a little relieved to have gotten the words off your chest, but now regret was starting to sink in. You shouldn’t have lost your temper like that, but he was just so damn… infuriating!

He pauses briefly outside of your closed bedroom door, before turning to you.

“I’d like to check on your progress before you leave.” He then begins to continue down the hallway. “Come along.”

 _What?_ He was really going to draw this out, wasn’t he? Great _._ Huffing, you continue to follow him down the hallway.

In the library, he strolls leisurely over to the dest in the small ledger room and opens the leger you had been working on. He then looks over each section of the library, inspecting every table with a pile of unshelved books. He walks through the bottom floor, back straight, hands clasped behind his back. The way he holds himself is so predatory and still somehow sexy as hell. For a classist prick, that is.

“I’ve recategorized them. ” You tell him from behind. “I didn’t mean to leave a mess…. I was planning to reshelve them tomorrow. Repair a few spines.” Why are you nervous and chatty like a schoolgirl? It’s unlike you.

He stands facing the main wall for a good minute in silence before turning to you.

“Good. You may continue in the morning.”

Your jaw slips open. “Sorry, but… what?!”

“Would you like me to change my mind?” He asks, arching an eyebrow at you. “Tomorrow we will forget the discussion we had tonight ever happened. You will speak to me with the proper respect going forward. If you fail to do so, then you will pack your bags and go home. This will be your one and only warning.”

Relief courses through you. “So you won’t be writing to my boss?” You ask, biting your lip.

He taps his lip, smirking slightly. “No I don’t think I will.” What was he up to?

“Okay. Thank you.” You say, not fully convinced.

He starts to walk away, and you call out after him.

“But why the sudden change of mind?”

He turns swiftly back to you. He pauses, seeming to gather his thoughts before he speaks.

“I must say, I enjoy seeing you all riled up. You’re like a harmless little kitten pretending to be a lion. Amusing as it was, I regret my words, as I’m sure you do.” He stands stiffly, eyes going wide slightly, “From this day forward, let’s be amicable. We’ll… play nicely, hmm?”

Afterwards, he shakes his head, looking slightly uncomfortable. Something’s off. It’s all too pleasant sounding. Why do you feel like this is a trap? You squint up towards him in suspicion.

“If you’re playing some sort of game here, I… I won’t play with you.” You tell him, arching a brow at him.

“You won’t?” He asks, voice dropping an octave in a playful mock of your words. “How disappointing.”

You say nothing and he walks around you in a slow circle, eyes trailing over your figure in a way that sends licks of desire to your core.

“No, I wouldn’t dream of playing games with you, Miss Hyde.” He sees your scowl and smirks. “But if I were to, I would recommend that you do, in fact, _play nicely._ You see, reputation is such a fragile thing. It wouldn’t take much to undo years of work to establish yourself in this field.”

You gulp, a retort building and then dying on your tongue as another thought bubbles through. It’s as if your thoughts are on a determined course of your own.

“Why on earth would you want me to keep working for you after everything I said? Can you really forget your mind that was made up only minutes ago?” You ask, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Not so much that I forget, as that I don’t care, Miss Hyde. Despite your blood status, I see potential… no, an ambition in you. ‘Self-made’… I believe you called yourself?” He says, each syllable caressed deliciously by the tongue of the devil. “It would be a shame if your ambitions all came crumbling down, if word got out that you were incompetant. But if you do play nicely and show me respect, I can help you achieve your dreams. What do you want to achieve in your career, Miss Hyde? Money? Status?”

Like you’re in a trance, your mind feels foggy as you find yourself accepting his words and your fate here on impulse. It would pay off to behave, at least in front of him, if you wanted to use him as a reference, if you wanted to have bragging rights of this career-making contract. Why had you thrown it all away over a verbal spat? Something was not right in the way you had acted earlier, or the way you were feeling now.

Was it lust? Were you really feeling so strong an attraction to Lucius that you had lost your mind?

Perhaps it was the soft moonlight and candles barely illuminating the grand library. Or how his full lips and deep voice were sensory overload, reverberating through your skull until you could think of nothing more. Until there was no fight left in you. All thoughts of storming away banished like a boggart. Your anger is entirely dissipated as he looks over your body slowly as if he can see through to your knickers. He’s undressing you with his penetrative stare, and you feel warm all over.

Blinking, you try to break the trance. With difficulty, you recall the topic at hand. “No. I.. don’t want money or status, though those things are admittedly helpful in life.” You tell him, and he listens patiently. His eyes finally rise back to meet yours.

“Then what?” He asks, barely above a whisper. The deep baritone of his voice going straight to your core. “What is it that you desire?”

He reaches a hand upward to touch your face, but immediately as his fingers graze your skin, he balls it into a fist and drops it to his side. The skin along your jaw feels warm from the ghosting touch of his fingertips.

“Why do you want to know?” You blurt, unable to hide your suspicion.

He seems to be at war with himself. “I can help you achieve your goals, if you act respectfully. I… don’t want to be your adversary, Miss Hyde.”

He frowns, looking away. What on earth? Still, your mouth opens and the words come out.

“I’ve always dreamed of a life full of art and adventure.” You tell him, “To see the greatness in the world around me, true lasting greatness. It matters not to me to have things that don’t last, money and status. I want experiences that make me feel gratitude for being alive.”

You’re watching his shoulders fall and rise with effort, like he’s holding back a scream, or something else entirely… What was going on?? Was the room warmer? You feel like it’s hard to breathe, the air thick with something unknown.

Were you affecting him as he was affecting you? No… He had said time and again that you were nothing to him.

He nods, but says nothing. You feel… unsettled. Why were you spilling your guts to him in the first place? Your behavior tonight, snapping at him, losing your cool… It wasn’t like you. Neither was getting so passionate about your life’s dream while speaking to someone you supposedly hated. It was out of character for you to feel so overcome with lust and passion that you couldn’t hold your tongue, that you couldn’t keep yourself from reaching out and caressing the lapels of his suit jacket.

It was like you were under a spell. No. It wasn’t you at all, now you were sure of it. That thought pushes through the smoky haze of your thoughts. A good part of you wants to ignore it, to tug him down to your level and just snog his face off. Desperately, you want to peel away the layers of his outfit until you could feel the hard outlines of his muscles. To feel his skin against yours.

But no, the other part of you is pesky and persistent. Now that the idea is in your mind and you have some clarity, you need to find out what’s happening to you.

“Have you… drugged me?” You ask, brows drawing together in unease. His forehead is pressed to yours, and you’re both breathing hard. How did you end up so close? Your mind feels foggy, irritated.

You must be drugged. You would never touch a man like this after he insulted you so thoroughly. Your dignity was _everything_ to you. You squeeze your eyes shut and shove him away. No, this isn’t right.

He falters, frowning. “Why would I…” He trails off, going rigid. He stands up straight and steps backwards as if your touch had burned him.

See? He wasn’t actually into this. This is wrong.

“The wine?” You whisper. The last time you can remember feeling like you weren’t under this trance… is before dinner.

“The wine. Of course.” He curses under his breath, something you had never seen him do.

“You… didn’t know?” You cover your mouth with your hand.

It all made sense, but only fractionally. You felt a bit silly and very woozy. It was hard to think clearly.

You look away from his entrancing blue eyes and try to clear your mind. The wine… yes. Lucius, too, had been acting strange tonight.

“Amortentia?” He asks, tilting his head in question.

“I don’t think so. You… and I… no.” You don’t sound like you’re making much sense, “We were fighting, remember? The argument we had... It was all true, but more amplified somehow.”

“Yes. Like we had no restraint...” He says, stroking his chin. “But what potion would cause that?”

“Whatever it is, we need an antidote.”

“Yes.” His gaze sweeps over your form hungrily. He looks away, throat bobbing. “As soon as possible.”

You nod, trying as hard as you can to think about something other than him throwing you against the closest bookcase and having his way with you. Maybe you _are_ a harlot, after all.

“Wait! you said it was a gift.” You say, suddenly recalling his words.

His eyes are hooded as they look down at you. He squeezes them shut tightly as he clears his throat.

“Viscount Gaunt, yes.” He paces back and forth for a moment, before stopping short. “You need to come with me.” He grabs your wrist and tugs you along with him.

“I-” The protest dies on your lips as you feel the uncomfortable yet familiar twist of being side-along apparated.

You both reappear in a room that reminds you of the dungeons at Hogwarts. It’s a potions room, presumably still in the manor. The apparition makes you woozy, and it takes everything left in you not to heave up the contents of your dinner. Your knees go weak and you nearly fall to the ground, but before you can, two strong arms catch you.

Then you’re being carried, an arm at your back and one at the fold of your knees. The firm, warm chest you are pressed against feels so nice, you wouldn’t mind falling asleep, but that's not what happens. You are hoisted onto one of the tables, placed in a sitting position, and then a hand cups your face.

“Are you alright, Miss Hyde?” Lucius says, but the room is spinning and you can barely focus on him.

“I think so… A little warning would have been... nice.” You tell him weakly.

“Right, I know not to drink and apparate… I… don’t know why I did that...” He says, tilting his head and looking down at you.

Even though you’re sitting on the tabletop, he is still at least a head taller than you.

“S’okay.” You smile weakly. Then your stomach churns. “I feel like… I might be sick.”

He frowns, nodding. “Dobby… Dobby!”

The elf appears after Lucius waves his wand about, remembering to summon him. Your head is starting to feel fuzzier, and you are trying to remember how much wine you had really consumed. Two glasses? Three? Why did it feel like more? Oh right… the potion…

You space out as you stare up at Lucius. His square jaw looks so taut and _lickable_. Something about the stubble on his face in the evening, something you’ve never seen before… it makes him look a little less pompous and a little more approachable. Like this, he’s less perfect and refined, but you quite like this look on him. He smirks down at you. You realize you're ogling him, but you can’t seem to stop.

He gaze lingers on you before acknowledging the elf. “Dobby?”

Dobby looks between the two of you with a bewildered expression, before coming closer.

“Yes, master?”

Lucius stares back down at you, and for a moment, you're unsure if he's even going to answer him. Is he going to...? He leans down, breath ghosting over your lips...


	10. Chapter 10

**Lucius pauses again, eyes twinkling with that dark look you can’t get enough of.** The one that is part mischievous, even a little evil, but oh so delicious. Like he's holding himself back, but only barely.

“Dobby, find the bottle of wine…” Lucius drawls slowly, never breaking his gaze from yours. “From dinner.”

“You should at least say please!” You snap at him, as you jerk away from him. Then you cover your mouth in surprise. It really was as if your brain-to-mouth filter was broken. This is bad. Soooo bad.

Except… it isn’t all bad. Lucius’ hands are on either side of your legs, and he's hovering over you. He smells so _nice._ Like expensive aftershave and wool. And a little… leather? Hmm. It’s a very nice smell, you decide.

“You’re far too bossy.” Lucius tells you gruffly. “For once… just be quiet.” He holds a finger to your lips. You giggle in response. _Since when were you a giggler? Never!!!_

“Me bossy? Do you even hear yourself?” You retort, “Say it with me, ‘ _Please_ Dobby, will you find it?’ It's not so hard if you try. You can do it.” 

His head cocks to the side, looking at you like you’ve grown a second head. You arch an eyebrow up at him.

“Please Dobby.” he relents. He squints in confusion, exhaling sharply. You can’t believe your ears. Did he just…

“M-master?” Dobby asks, looking quite concerned.

You and Lucius both hold back laughter quite poorly, and you find yourself fully losing yourself to whatever it was consuming your mind. The smile on Lucius’ face takes your breath away. His brooding features light up like sunshine. You hardly register the moment when Dobby leaves. Even when you stop smiling, Lucius is watching you still, and his hand comes up to cup your face once more. His thumb brushes across your cheek as he studies you.

“I despise the fact that I find your face so lovely. It’s maddening” He tells you as his thumb trails over your lower lip slowly. You squeak in surprise. It’s like the air has left your lungs and your heart has forgotten to work properly. But just as quickly as you’re swooning, his hand falls back to his side and he takes several steps backward. “I mean… No. I’m sure I don’t _actually_ mean that. It’s the potion, you see...”

You flush scarlet from his words, “Well I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but you are..." You search for a proper insult. "You are _not_ a nice man.” You pout childishly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I…” He seems at a loss of words. Was that a faint rosy blush atop his chisled cheekbones?

“You know what? I’ve made up my mind. I don’t like you anymore.” You frown, feeling angry again. “No one so sexy should be mean. It shouldn’t be allowed. Sexy _and_ rude? What a terrible and annoyingly attractive person you are. I’m telling you… It should be against the rules. Not a shred of decency.”

Your hand clamps over your mouth as you ramble your complaints, exposing your thoughts aloud. _What the?_ Your eyes go wide, and his go… darker.

Uh oh. Where is Dobby?! You needed to know what was happening to you, and _quickly._

Well, currently what's happening, you're aware of. Lucius is standing between your parted knees and tilting your chin up with his hand, angling your face towards his and your heart is hammering in your chest. That much you know. But you're at a loss for where this could possibly be going.

That, or you're in denial.

“What are you doing?” You ask him in a whisper as you lean in, under his spell.

His hooded gaze holds yours. He smirks, shrugging. He leans down even closer, so close his face is just inches from yours. It’s then that his intention becomes clear.

“Something I will undoubtedly regret.”

Despite your potion-induced mental haze, you are so _in this moment_ , immersing yourself in his touch. It thrills you, his fingertips on your legs, leaving a trail of warmth in their path. You feel your eyes closing and your heart still pounding in your chest as he continues to close the distance. His warm breath fans against your lips. By the next inhale, the plush pillows of your lips are just barely brushing his-- then the door slams open.

For a moment you both just stare at each other, but the next thing you know Lucius’s hands shove your shoulders, hard. Immediately, you are smashed down roughly on the table top and you groan in pain. He looks down at his hands in confusion.

“Ow.” You say, feeling a sharp pain in your skull from where you had fallen backwards.

“I- I… don’t know what possessed me to do that.” He says, running his hand through his hair so it lays in a different angle, swept away from his face.

You do your best to guess which he is referring to: shoving you away so roughly or almost kissing you? You groan, staring at the ceiling. Everything is too bright and there’s too much spinning. You eventually sit back up and find Lucius already waving his wand at the empty bottle of wine.

“Let me see it.” You demand, annoyed as ever. Your moods and thoughts were really all over the place--and your head really hurts. The sooner you figure this all out, the sooner it will be over.

“Hush.” He snaps. “I am trying to find out what was in this bottle.”

“Obviously.” You snap. “But what does the label say?”

“It’s not going to tell us on the label.” He says, waving it around dramatically. “It’s been tampered with.”

“Let me see the bottle.” You insist, rubbing the back of your head.

“No, now hush, Miss Hyde.” He says, “I need to focus.”

You huff, and jump down from the table. On wobbly knees, you make your way over to the table. He glances at you from the side and takes a measured step away from you, taking the bottle with him. Rolling your eyes you reach for the bottle. Just as your fingertips brush it, he pulls it out of your reach.

“Stop!” You complain, “I just want to read it.” He’s too tall, and he holds it just out of your reach, even when you press your body against his and stand on your tiptoes.

“Not now.” He says, guiding you into the counter with his hips. Your backside is trapped between the table behind you and his hard, firm body. Then he continues to work, eyes squinting slightly in concentration.

“Lucius.” You try and get his attention with a softer voice. Even trapped between him and the counter, it’s like you're invisible to him as he focuses on the task at hand. His focus is quite impressive, and tempting...

“Not now.” He hisses, flashing a series of detection spells at the bottle and angling it out of sight. Or, at least attempting to. You grab his shoulders and lean your head to the side to try and read it. You aren’t so sure he is standing up straight, because you… you are leaning a bit too far to the left. His tall, broad body is the only thing keeping you on your feet.

“Oh _la la._ ” You say in sing-song, giggling. He arches an eyebrow at you, smirking, and you take the opportunity to reach over and turn the bottle towards you. “Ha! It’s French wine, get it? So I can actually read it. _Émércher: Embrouiller l’espirit_... Ohhh! It’s obvious! The wine is called Befuddle, for Merlin’s sake. It's probably a befuddlement potion.”

“Embrouiller l’espirit” He reads aloud in perfect French, pausing his spellwork. He turns back to look at you and you sheepishly remove your hands from his neck. “Yes of course. I thought it was just… tampered inside. Perhaps it was made with a purpose in mind.”

He strokes his chin thoughtfully, and you lick your lips as you watch the movement of his fingertips. He sees this, and the bottle wobbles as he breaks the connection with his wand. Instinctively, you both reach out to steady it. For a moment, both of your hands rest atop each other on the bottle.

It's just a moment that you’re joined in hands, but you feel it. Sparks. It's briefly euphoric and light, but then you remember that you’re just under the effects of a potion.

“Oh Lucius,” You roll your eyes, smirking. “Don’t pretend this was truly an ‘accident.’ I bet you intended this all along”

“It’s _Mr. Malfoy_ to you,” He frowns. “And if I was trying to drug you, which I absolutely was _not_ , why then would I also drug myself?”

You shrug. “I don’t know… I don’t understand the inner workings of conniving, sneaky snakes.” You reach up and poke him in the middle of his forehead. “Slytherins. I’ll never understand you all. So rude, the lot of you.”

“Really...” His eyes twinkle with mirth and he leans forward. “All of us? Rude… but also _sexy,_ didn’t you say?”

“Uh… who said that?” You say, shaking your head, hoping your cheeks aren’t on fire. “I think the potion is messing with your hearing.”

You feel so confused. What had you said exactly? ‘ _What a terrible and annoyingly attractive person you are.’_ Agh! This was all horribly incriminating. He can’t know you’re attracted to him. His ego is already much too large. And he’s your boss, and a jerk… Plus, you’re just under a potion’s influence. Yeah. So if you said something, it was probably because of the drugged wine. That’s all.

“A befuddlement draught counter potion, then?” Dobby’s shrill voice snaps you out of the trance Lucius’s gaze had been holding you in.

“Yes, please.” You say, smiling at the elf.

Dobby hops over to the bookshelf and flips through a volume.

“Oh dear.” Dobby says.

“What… is it?” Lucius growls, low and threatening.

You give him a pointed look. “Be nice! What is it, Dobby.”

“This book says…” Dobby scans over the page again, before looking fearfully over to Lucius. “That the Befuddlement draught… inflames the brain… producing hot headedness and recklessness.”

“Yes, yes.” Lucius huffs impatiently. “We know this now. What is the antidote?”

“There isn’t one, sir.” Dobby says, visibly making himself smaller against the bookcase, but Lucius ignores him, looking at you once more.

“Then just retrieve a vial of sober-up potion.” Lucius says. “We’ll share it.”

Dobby retrieves it in less than a minute, and Lucius takes half the vial before handing it to you. It’s berry scented and bitter, but you gulp it down anyway. Immediately, you feel a swell of shame as the mental haze retreats just slightly.

“Mr. Malfoy.” You say, “I am… _so sorry_ for my behavior.”

He nods once, his face the back to the stern, unemotional composure to which you were accustomed to.

“Likewise, I am regretful…” He says, “To have caused such a catastrophic evening by forgoing an inspection of the wine. Knowing the viscount, I should have been more careful when putting his _gift_ to use. I stand by my earlier decision. You will not be fired and you may choose to remain… If you so wish.”

You are resolved to prove him wrong about your qualifications and aptitude , despite your mortification at the way you had been a giggling, idiotic mess. And ‘regretful’ was as close to an apology that you might ever again receive from Lucius Malfoy. Still, you want to tease him, even with your job on the line. The potion must wear off eventually, but until then, you can’t hold your tongue.

“Apology accepted.” You say, ignoring his responding scowl, “I will finish my assignment, then. If you’ll have me...”

“Excellent.” He looks away from you, at the floor.

“Will you show me back to my room?” You ask, “I don’t know where I am.”

He only nods in response, a pensive expression on his sharp, beautiful features. Silently, you walk together back to your room. The mood is different, all playfulness vanished with the sober-up potion. But the reckless lust lingered… You can’t look him in the eyes anymore without the boldness of the alcohol, though. When you finally reach the door, you reach for the doorknob without looking backwards.

Before you do something you regret, you decide to call it a night.

“Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy.”

There’s no response so you push the door open and finally find solace in your temporary bedroom. Sighing, you throw yourself on the bed, lying, looking up at the ceiling.

What a disastrous whirlwind of a day. How would you face him tomorrow? You had called him _sexy_ to his face!!! You want to scream into your pillow. And also, you’re overcome with the need to relieve some tension.

You sit up and pull off your sweater, feeling much too warm to be comfortable. You felt heat lick your skin as if you were on fire. This bodily discomfort… It was likely a side-effect of the befuddling draught. Even your feet feel warm. You kick off your heels hurriedly and hike your skirt up to tear your stockings from the garter clips.

Your treacherous mind replays your almost-kiss, the way he had eyed you so hungrily. You can practically still feel his hips and hard, muscled body pressing against yours while he examined the wine bottle for curses. Lying against the soft satin duvet, you feel overcome with desire and warmth. You’re imagining how things might have played out if you hadn’t realized that you were under the effects of the potion and… your core aches to be touched.

First you need to rid yourself of all these stuffy, suffocating clothes, then perhaps you will let your mind fantasize. Just one night of free, uninhibited fantasy couldn’t hurt. Then you could go back to hating him in the morning.

You sigh in relief as you roll the sheer black fabric of your stocking down your thigh, just reaching your knee when the door bursts open.

“Miss Hyde, I-” The words die on his lips as he takes in your sprawled form, awkwardly undressing. His adam’s apple bobs as he looks down at your half-uncovered leg. It’s too late to pull down your skirt or close your legs. This position is quite accidentally suggestive.

Your cheeks are red as cherry pie, sinfully exposed in such a way. Thank Merlin you still had your panties on. Maybe he wouldn’t realize...

He opens and closes his mouth, but he doesn’t look away. It must be the potion lingering in your system, but a delicious idea forms in your mind. Maybe you just don’t care anymore, especially when he’s looking at you like you’re dessert in a glass display case of a gourmet bakery and he’s desperate for the taste of something sweet.

“You… what?” You ask, regaining your composure first. “You’ve forgotten how to knock?" Your tone is light and teasing.

There’s a beat of silence, and you shift into a slightly more modest position.

“No, I… What _are_ you doing?” He asks, voice hoarse as you continue to roll the sheer fabric down your leg.

He’s acting like a shy school boy… how delightful. He’s still affected by the potion too. You feel emboldened by his reserved demeanor, especially because he had been so handsy earlier.

“Undressing in the privacy of my bedroom.” You say, adapting your voice into a low, sultry tone. “Why?”

You give him a fake innocent look as you slide your fingertips in a caress up your calf and reach for your stocking again. Slowly, just barely, you push it all the way down your leg, exposing even more of your smooth skin.

“Right.” He seems to catch himself staring only after you finish the first stocking and you slide your hand up your other thigh. Maintaining eye contact, you lift your skirt just enough to unclip the other stocking from your garter belt. He turns swiftly around, facing another wall. “I just came here, because I wanted to say… that is, I mean for... For what almost transpired between us. I want to emphasize clearly that I don’t feel any attraction to you.”

You notice that there is a mirror over on the wall where he stands, hiding. Smirking, you decide to continue your movements in his new line of sight, just to see if he will squirm. Or… something more. You crawl slowly to the edge of the bed where he can see you and sit there, slowly rolling down your other stocking. Sure enough, you catch him stealing the briefest of glances in the mirror.

“Of course not, Mr. Malfoy.” You tell him, “I would never ever, in my _wildest fantasies,_ expect that you did. I mean, it’s just from the potion, right…?”

Standing up from the bed, now barefoot on the rug, you pad over to him. You walk around his tall, imposing form and stand in front of him. Before he can speak, you turn to face the mirror. His eyes trail over you and you watch in an evil glee as his hands ball into fists at his sides.

“But since you’re here, would you mind helping me unzip?” You ask, with a sly grin as you address him over your shoulder. “I mean, I know you aren’t attracted to me, so it’s fine, right?”

His pale blue eyes meet yours for a second in the mirror, and his jaw clenches.

“No.” He looks away. “I… don’t think that’s appropriate.”

“Ohhh,” You hide your smile with your hand. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize.”

You walk past him and over to your bed where your wand lies. Your heart pounds as you wait a moment, then another. Any second now, you hope he will take the bait.

“Realize… _what_ , Miss Hyde?” Lucius says, voice drawling low and deep.

You flick your wand and the zipper undoes itself on your dress. Thud. Thud. Your heart doubles in it’s rhythm as you turn to him, wiggling the fabric down and dropping your dress on the floor.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” You give him a small smirk. “I didn’t realize that you were a shy virgin.”

In a second flat, your back is on the bed and you’re being squashed under a tall, muscular mountain of a man. He hovers over your face, glaring hard at you. You’re bursting into giggles for a fraction of a second.

Then his lips press firmly into yours, and your body lights up with sparks of desire. As his lips move with yours, his hands roam the open expanses of your skin hungrily. You’re delighted to find that his fingers are actually a bit rough. Part of you wonders how he has rough hands if he hasn’t done any form of manual labor, _ever_ in his entire life. Didn’t he even go so far as to wear gloves most of the time? But you don't worry yourself over it, you just give in-- enjoying his explorations of your waist, the smooth skin of your thighs. As he deepens the kiss, you wrap one of your legs around his hips in encouragement.

A small, delighted gasp lets loose from your lips as he grabs a handful of your breast. He uses the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth. In return, you suck on his lower lip, grazing him with your teeth, which elicits a deep groan. You feel something hard pressing against your thigh, and your hips cant upwards to rub against it.

He lets out a sharp exhale, and pulls his lips from yours, smirking. Your eyes silently plead with him, and he chuckles. Nope, he's definitely _not_ a virgin.

“You want it?" He asks, his voice deep and sensual. "Beg for it.”

Immediately, you scowl, pulling away. “Excuse me?!”

“You want me to bed you so desperately, do you?” He growls. “A mudblood… of all women. Very well, Miss Hyde. Then _beg for it._ ”

He chuckles again at your bewildered expression... he was playing with you, right? He arches an eyebrow looking down at you, smiling smugly. He's calling your bluff. He’s… being cruel. Either way, you're definitely done playing this game.

You scoff, pushing him away. “You are truly unbelievable.”

He rolls off of you and you grab at your wand. He reaches for his, and you roll your eyes. You resist the urge to jinx him and instead summon your nightgown. You turn your back to him for a moment and use your wand to guide the black satin fabric as it floats down your body. When you're decent, you face him again.

“Well... this was clearly just the potion still working…” You spit, catching your breath finally as you gesture between you two. “You and I aren’t thinking clearly. Besides... Now that I know how you really feel, I will not make the same mistake again, tempting you like that. You should know that I will never beg you for anything, much less your _cock_. In fact, if you ever desire to touch me again, you can be sure it will be the other way around.”

You raise your chin, crossing your arms. You hope you sound confident, because actually, his low commanding tone, demanding you to beg for him has you brimming with heated desire. You care more about your dignity than your aching need for him, but only barely so. Dignity won just by a landslide. You were, after all, in only your nightgown after attempting to seduce your boss. Said boss who was still reclining on your bed with... tented pants. Oh, merlin.

"Don't hold your breath. I will never beg a _mudblood_ , for anything.” He stands, taking a deep breath as he saunters over to you, chuckling to himself. His gaze meets yours, a stormy, smoldering blue that sucks you in and makes your chest swell with indignant anger. "Although, I'm sure this rectifies your previous curiosity about my sexual experience. Hmm? "

"Er... right." You gulp, taking a step backwards so you can breathe. You try to look away as he reaches into his pants and adjusts himself, flattening the tent in his pants by tucking it up into his waistband. "Yes..." You bite your lip, and he follows the movement with his eyes, smirking.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Hyde.” He says, walking past you to the door. “I expect you to be professional, respectful, and compliant tomorrow. Oh, and I wanted to inform you that I will be having company over within the next two weeks so...”

““Certainly, Mr. Malfoy. “ Your tone is remarkably even for someone who is internally boiling with hate and also… well it didn’t matter anymore. A line had been drawn. Your curiosity briefly satisfied, but that was the end of it. “I remember your rules. I’ll stay on this side of the manor for the duration of their stay and out of sight.”

“Of course.” He says, lips pressed into a hard line. “Very well… Goodnight.”

He disappears before you can answer. As you lay down under the silky soft duvet, you sigh in discontent. Your fingers reach up to touch your lips, thoughtfully. _Bastard._

How were you ever going to succeed now?


	11. Chapter 11

**After a restless night, you wake to the sound of rain pattering softly against the glass of the bedroom window.** It’s early, and the sun is just rising over the horizon, casting a pink glow on the gardens. You dress and pad down the hall to the kitchens to have a bit of tea. The house-elf offers you a plate of croissants and pastries, but you decline. You had no appetite after what had happened the night before. Truthfully, you were mortified. That in such a short amount of time at the manor, you had made such a glaring fool of yourself.

It haunted you that you had baited Lucius into your bed. The very man who had made it abundantly clear how little he thought of you. How much of it had been the potioned wine, and how much your true feelings? As much as you hated to admit it, the will to have him in your arms, to feel his lips against yours had been all your own. You had behaved in the most undignified manner, and now you couldn’t bear to face him. But, eventually you would have to.

As you threw yourself into your work, you prayed that he would stay away from the library.

You were both dismayed and relieved that he did stay away. For a week you had the time to sit with your embarrassment and attempt to move forward with your work as a professional. You couldn’t take back your mistakes, but you could still strive to prove him wrong about you.

You wouldn’t beg for him, and you believed that you were capable of succeeding in the impossible task of cataloging the manor’s library before the two months were up. You didn’t want to kiss him again, or anything of that sort. The only thing you wanted from him now was his respect.

If there was anyone that you _did_ want to kiss, it was Madam Wiggins, the retired Hogwarts librarian whose tips had worked wonderfully. Now you were working much quicker. Four times faster, to be exact. In fact, half of the first floor was almost finished by the end of the first week. You hadn’t been sleeping much, so it worked in your favor. Some charms allowed the quills to notate on their own, and when you woke, you proofread and triple checked the work. It was like having an assistant, but a bit lonelier.

Waking so early allows you the frequent opportunity of watching Lucius from afar, running and lifting weights just below the windows of the Library. You flush, remembering his body laying over yours. He lifts impossibly large tires and throws them, making it look easy. It stirs unwanted desire in you, watching him be so physical, letting off steam. He could have handled you that way, too, if things hadn't gotten so out of control. Now you despised him too much to let him get his way. You won't beg.

If he ever notices your figure in the window, he doesn't show it. He continues to ignore you too.

It's the middle of the second week when you saw them: the guests. Part of you is relieved that Lucius hadn’t made them up to avoid you. You were looking out over the gardens from the library, as you often did, when you first caught a glimpse of them, strolling through the labyrinth. A woman with a large sunhat and a man with long hair- blonde but not quite as platinum as Lucius’s, He was impeccably dressed. At least, from what you could see from the window.

You had lingered in the window, watching the pair. The man seemed to sense you, finding you by looking straight up at the window. Panicking, you hid away from the curtain out of sight, and when you looked again, they were gone.

When your heartbeat relaxed again, you returned to your task. You didn’t see them the next day.

Or the day after.

Today you were dressed in a simple black dress blouse with a lace collar and a dark plaid overall dress, your usual stockings, and some heels. At your neck was a thin velvet ribbon tied into a bow in lieu of a tie. You wouldn’t dare be caught off guard in jeans and a jumper the day Lucius decides to speak to you again. If he ever did.

You had taken to bringing your portable record player with you into the library after the first week. The silence was too much to bear. It didn’t feel peaceful to be alone with your thoughts in an unfamiliar place.

You had even taken to asking the elves to give you a cotton comforter, so you wouldn’t be reminded of the way it had felt to lie beneath him, his hips pressing yours into the mattress. His lips on yours making your body come alive with sparks of warmth as you lay against the satin fabric of your comforter.

The worst, most curious part of you didn’t want to leave him alone. You wanted to storm into the west wing and demand that he speak to you, but you were just too cowardly. Perhaps it was best if you left one another alone.

It had been an average morning, breakfast alone. Working alone. Powering through a section far away from the window that overlooked the grounds where Lucius worked out every morning at 8 am sharp. Once you had dared to look out and saw him in his tight shirt and shorts, lifting a massive tire and throwing it forward. It was too much too soon. You had avoided that window ever since.

Not that it was any use

Now the image of him lifting weights and running plagued your mind when you couldn't sleep. Just as often as his cruel words kept you awake, the new image of him played on repeat. His low voice was in your head, demanding you to beg for him. Sometimes your dreams followed through. But when you woke, you came crashing back to reality. It was all a reminder of why you could never have him.

You take an early lunch, eating in silence next to a few house elves as they scurry about, likely preparing a meal for the guests or maybe just Lucius. You didn’t know how long the guests were staying. Maybe they wouldn’t leave and you wouldn’t have to face him ever again. Deep down you know that's not what you really want, though. When you finish, you make your way back to the Library. If your calculations were accurate, you could very well finish by the deadline, if not before it. You would leave this manor with your dignity intact.

When this was all over, you would pay a visit to Madame Wiggins, perhaps use some of your generous pay to help the old woman out somehow. It was the least you could do. After all, the woman had mentored you at Hogwarts, and you had maintained contact throughout university. She had seen something in you, a young mudblood witch, that no one else had. If her advice helps you finish this assignment on time, it will also be she that led your career to new heights.

As you approach the end of the hallway, you hear a soft chime of feminine laughter from the open doorway of Lucius’s office. It takes everything in you not to turn and stare. You continue forward, eyes trained at the end of the hallway. A pang of jealousy twists inside of you, and you focus on your breathing to stay calm. It doesn’t matter who the woman is, you remind yourself.

He isn’t yours. He was never yours.

At the last moment, your eyes betray you. Before you pass, you peek into the open door. It’s up a few marble steps but it's enough to see a flash of the back of a woman, standing before Lucius’s desk. He’s sitting in his chair smiling, genuinely, eyes twinkling with amusement. The sight of him after so long nearly takes your breath away. For a moment, your mind drifts to the memory of him standing before you as you sat on the counter, his lips brushing yours. That same twinkle in his eyes as he looked down at you.

_‘What are you doing?’ You asked timidly as he lifted your chin upwards._

_‘Something I’ll undoubtedly regret.’_

You shake the memory away as you pass the doorway and out of sight. You continue on to the library and sigh, setting the record player to the beginning of your favorite album. You listen to the whole album just for your favorite song at the end. Sure you could just set the needle at that part every time, but you don’t want to wear the vinyl out only at that part. So you wait patiently instead Humming to yourself, you search for your ledger. It’s not on the table where you left it.

You frown, turning about the room. It’s not there. Hurriedly you step into the ledger room and back out looking frantically for it. It shouldn’t have stopped recording on its own. What happened while you were at lunch?

Your heart pounds as you worry that it will set you back. Did the enchanted quill go rogue and start working on another part of the library? You pace the first floor retracing your steps.

Then you spot something else out of place. Or rather, someone. A figure sitting in the chair by the fireplace. Warily, you approach. In a few short steps, you spot the missing ledger in the hands of a man you’ve never seen before. He must be the man you saw walking the grounds earlier that week.

While you know to stay out of the way of Lucius’s guests, you really need that ledger in order to keep working. You can’t move on until you finish the first floor. So you’re stuck. You think of how to make him aware of your presence. Should you clear your throat? Say “Pardon me?” or should you just.. wait?

“Oh don’t mind me, mademoiselle, I’m merely admiring your work.” The man says, making you jump slightly. He closes the ledger with a snap, and stands from the leather armchair.

When he turns to face you, you’re taken aback. Because he’s… quite handsome. Sharp, blue eyes, a warm, mischievous smile. He is dressed in a deep burgundy suit. His intense eyes appraise you as he steps forward. He seems a few years older than you, likely around thirty.

“My, my.” He says, giving you a once over as he smiles down at you. “It is a wonder that Lucius does not spend all of his free hours in the library.” He grins wickedly. "I certainly would."

You arch an eyebrow, silently accepting the ledger as he extends it to you.

He continues to smile, all pearly white teeth. It’s both charming and menacing. Like a wolf. He extends a hand to you. “Marcus Gaunt.”

Gaunt? As in…

“As in the Viscount?” You aren’t able to keep the shock from your voice.

“My reputation precedes me.” He laughs, smiling again. He steps forward. “Alas, you have me at a disadvantage. You know me, but I don’t know you. May I ask who it is I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

“Estella Hyde.” You answer, accepting his hand. It’s warm and smooth. The hand of a nobleman who never had to do physical labor in his entire life. "Pleased to meet you."

Should you curtsy? Is he that kind of royal? Instead of looking ridiculous, you choose to do nothing.

“Estella.” He repeats as he lifts your hand and places a kiss upon your knuckles. “A pleasure indeed.”

You find yourself flushing despite yourself as you withdraw your hand from his hold. He was quite forward. Cheeky.

He smirks, stepping around you. “I do hope to see you around, Estella.”

He sends you a wink over his shoulder before exiting. Your gaze lingers on his retreating form. You shake your head, as if to shake the stray thoughts of this man from your head. You couldn't help but compare him to Lucius. They were both tall with long hair, but that's where the similarities ended. He was warm and forward where Lucius was icy and reserved. While he was friendlier, something about him raised a red flag in your mind. He was the man who drugged the wine, after all. Something about him was disarming, but you needed to keep your guard up. Besides, he had arrived with another woman, you remind yourself.

It seemed that all the men you found attractive were taken or were insufferable pricks.

After your brief, yet flustering encounter, you set the ledger to self-record once more as you reshelve and organize the books by hand.

The man hadn’t returned since he had introduced himself, and there was no sign of Lucius or the woman either. You tell yourself you are stressing for no reason, and you decide to let loose. Apart from the viscount, not another soul had set foot in the library before nightfall in two weeks. You kick off your shoes and sing softly along as you shelve the last of the day’s books. Perhaps you had gone a bit mad, working alone for so many days on end, with only Dobby or the odd servant elf to speak to.

You wondered why the viscount was visiting, and who the other woman was. When Lucius finally acknowledged you again, would he act as if nothing happened?

You flick your wand and send a stack of novels to their new home. Just by the fireplace you had created a space for all of the greatest English classics. In case Lucius found himself wanting to read the best in his library next to the fire. You hoped he would appreciate the personal touch you tried to give the first floor. Perhaps one day his family would enjoy it. It's a painful thought, but you could imagine him with an elegant pureblood wife and plenty of blonde little children enjoying the fire as they read together. Maybe one day you would be happy like that too. At last your favorite song comes around, perking you back up in time for the end of your work day. It wouldn't do to dwell on depressing thoughts of your own loneliness. So what if you might never find a family to belong to? You would always have your career and your favorite books to keep you company. If you put enough work in, this assignment would be a catalyst to your career reaching even greater heights. You would worry about what else could fulfill you after that.

After dinner, you would continue working if Lucius was not in the Library. He often did spend time by the fireplace after dinner, and so you stayed away. In the first week you had noticed this pattern, and you would always leave before he could find you standing in the doorway. Though now that he had guests, maybe you could squeeze in some extra work. Or maybe you would summon the courage to face him when he was alone.

You hum to the song, breaking into real words at the second verse. Then you put on another record. Today you are on track to finish the first floor, and it looks just wonderful. You’re very proud of your work, and you choose to focus on that. It cheers you up, even puts you in the mood to sing along to the music. So you do, mostly in tune.

_You go to my head with a smile that makes my temperature rise  
Like a summer with a thousand Julys  
You intoxicate my soul with your eyes_

Where before you used to fantasize about your muggle crush Frank Sinatra as you listened to him sing, now the song makes you think of Lucius and it's like all the cheeriness has been sucked out of the room again. You find yourself singing along to the next track softly, albeit a bit less enthusiastically and with a twirl and a flourish of your wand, you send the last books to the top shelf. The record comes to an end soon after. You stand with your hands on your hips, smiling at the work. It looks good. You can’t wait until the smug bastard sees it for himself. That would have to be enough for you, for now.

“Bravo.” A soft femine voice says from behind you, and you jump, clutching your chest.

“Sorry-” You spin around to find… the woman from the lingerie shop? She’s clapping, standing next to Lucius who is watching you with an odd expression. “I- Er, Hello. Narcissa, wasn't it?”

Her amused smile twists into a look of surprise, her own eyebrows shooting up like yours. “Quelle surprise! Estella?” Her soft French accent makes your name sound especially nice.

You smile, though you’re properly embarrassed that you had an audience to your singing and your twirling about with bare feet. You're sure you're blushing, but you try and brush it off. “How do you do?”

You don’t miss the taken aback look that briefly flashes across Lucius’s face before he regains his composure.

“I am wonderful, thank you. You are working for Lucius?” She asks, stepping closer to examine your setup. “How wonderful.”

“Mhm.” You smile stiffly, avoiding the piercing gaze of the man you had been thinking about for the greater part of two weeks.

“Lucius you didn’t tell me you were reorganizing the library for me.” She spins to face him, all dimpled smiles. Suddenly you feel a great deal less fond of the woman as she steps close to Lucius and places a hand on his shoulder. “What a wonderful surprise. Thank you, darling.”

For her? _'Darling'..._ Were they… together?

Narcissa spots the confusion as she turns back to you. Lucius is watching you too, so you’re careful not to react too strongly. Inside, you’re freaking out. _What the hell?_

“That’s my fiancé for you, so very thoughtful.” She places a hand on his chest as she smiles at you. Her eyes are sharp as they assess your reaction.

The message is clear. She is staking her claim. You return her smile, but you send a murderous glance in the direction of Lucius. He had kissed you, _and he had a fiance for Merlin’s sake._

This whole past two weeks, you had been wondering if it meant anything to him. And now he was standing before you, engaged. Had he always been engaged? Had you read the whole thing wrong from the start? You take a deep breath, plastering a false smile on your face.

“Isn’t he _just_?” You shrug, with a false tone of enthusiasm. Your smile is wide but if looks could kill, Lucius would be flayed, chopped, and crushed. Pounded into a pulp.

His face, however, is expressionless as he regards you. Entirely unemotional.

It’s typical, but then you notice how his body is stiffer than usual. He doesn’t make any attempts to touch Narcissa in reassurance, and he doesn’t look in her direction. Instead, his eyes are fixed on you. It’s all so unsettling. Why is he watching your reaction and not that of his fiancee?

You exhale, the calmness of the evening vanishing along with your breath. You need to get out of there.

You scan the floor for your shoes, summoning them and slinging them on as fast as you can.

“I should retire for the evening. Er, the first floor is now finished Mr. Malfoy. The newly completed ledgers are on the top shelf in the ledger room if you wish to review them.” You gesture to the door without meeting his eyes. “Lovely to see you once again, Miss Black.”

She nods, her smile a bit more friendly at your professional tone. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Without a backwards glance, you gather the record player and flick your wand to send the foldable tables back into the ledger room. You grab your leather satchel and hobble out of the library as fast as you can while carrying everything. It’s all a bit heavy, but you’ll manage to make it to your room without too much difficulty . The trouble is, you haven’t allowed yourself a free hand for the door.

You internally groan, but the doors open just as you approach. Before you can call out your thanks to whoever did it for you, in storms Marcus Gaunt. You expect him to pass by you, but his gaze is focused as he walks directly towards you.

“Ah, just the lovely woman I was hoping to see.” He takes the heavy record player from your hands without asking.

“Er, thank you.” You mumble, head spinning at all that had happened in such a short amount of time. “Sorry, did you say you wanted to see me?”

His lips stretch into a wolfish grin. “I did.”

“Marcus, is that you?” Narcissa calls from behind you, deeper into the library.

“Come.” He commands softly to you, tugging you by your hand. He pulls you back towards the couple.

 _Couple._ The thought makes your stomach churn. Worse still is the stiff-jawed grimace Lucius sends your way as he takes in the sight of the viscount holding your hand. When you meet his gaze he looks away, facing the man beside you who refuses to drop your hand.

“Lucius, I have a great grievance to discuss with you as the host of this house.” The man states a tad dramatically.

“Yes?” Lucius asks stiffly.

“You dare hide this beautiful young woman from my sight while I am staying here?” He gestures to you. “A librarian no less, when you know how I adore collecting literature?” He scoffs. “My dear friend, I am most shocked.”

"Literature?" Narcissa scoffs. "I think you mean that you adore collecting muses for your art, darling."

Marcus waves his hand in dismissal. "Potato, tomato, no matter. I must know how you found this adorable librarian."

“I’m an archivist, actually.” You quietly correct him, and at once all eyes are on you.

“Forgive me, darling. Archivist.” The viscount grins down at you, slinging an arm over your shoulders, and it flusters you a bit. “And she isn't scared of me. Even better. _I like her._ ”

Your cheeks turn pink, and you avert your gaze to the floor. Nope. No. You won’t go there. One tall, muscular man with long hair and a wicked grin was enough for you. Two was just complicating things.

Narcissa laughs. “Oh Marcus, you know he probably kept her away for a good reason, haven't you dear?” She pats Lucius's shoulder and you feel a swell of indignant rage as he gives her a small smile. Or at least it would be if his mouth wasn't pressed in a hard line. You really just want to get out of here. The sight of them being all lovey-dovey was too much.

It was times like this that you really wish you had the freedom to apparate within the home. Or that Dobby would come to escort you away. Or that the ground would swallow you up whole. Any of those would do, really.

Lucius says nothing. Where before he was calm, collected, he’s visibly much more tense. The stiff, angry taut jawline looking sharper than ever. He glares fiercely at the viscount who pretends not to notice.

Marcus tuts, smiling good-naturedly despite the awkward turn of subject. “What reason could you possibly have for not introducing me to your lovely friend, Malfoy?”

“Oh, darling, can’t you tell?” Narcissa says, laughing softly, “Even I can tell that she’s not of pure blood. I’m sure Lucius was simply looking out for you. She’s lovely indeed, but not a proper match for someone of your status.” She has the decency of smiling apologetically when she glances in your direction. It does nothing to quell the sudden hatred you feel towards her.

“Not of pure blood?” The man beside you scoffs. It would be impossible for you to feel more awkward than you do right now, watching as they speak as if you weren't there. “You English are so dreadfully old-fashioned. For what reason would I need a ‘pure blood’ woman. Hmm? You make it sound like women are horses instead of women. What need do I have of a well-to-do woman.... Money? I have plenty myself. Non, mon amie. I value most in a woman… intelligence. And have you seen this one? Absolutely lovely. Blood purity be damned. It would not be enough to keep me away.”

He gives you a sly smile, and suddenly you wonder if there is a layered meaning to his words. He sends a defiant smirk directly towards Lucius.

“In fact, I think she should be my date to dinner tonight.”

Viscount Marcus Gaunt


	12. Chapter 12

**“Absolutely not.” Lucius answers, before you can even open your mouth to reply.** He stands taller, his broad chest seeming to take up more space as he takes a step towards Marcus. “I’m afraid that I cannot allow it.”

“Oh, why not Lucius?” Narcissa laughs airily, as if trying to lighten the mood as she watches Marcus in open curiosity. “It’s only dinner.”

“In this house, Miss Black, we do not allow our servants to dine with our guests.” Lucius says, never breaking eye contact with the Viscount. Narcissa’s smile falters.

_Yep, you would definitely rather be anywhere else but here._

Although… it’s been a while since you’ve seen Lucius face-to-face, so seeing him all riled up is an even more delightful reunion than anything you could have possibly hoped for.

He deserves to be as angry as you feel towards him for kissing you when he’s _engaged to be married_.

Besides, dinner alone in the kitchens was never quite so dramatic as this. Maybe now you want to have dinner with the viscount, especially if it will annoy Lucius.

“Oh, come now. Is that any way to treat such a lovely lady?” Marcus beams, “She’s not a house elf, for Merlin’s sake.”

Lucius is positively rigid, scowling at you now as if he wished you were one.

You’re torn between insisting he’s right so that you can excuse yourself to get out of this room, away from him… and desperately _needing_ to push his buttons.

“Oh, I’m very flattered, Viscount Gaunt, but I am perfectly content to dine with the elves as I normally do.” You grin at Lucius, ignoring the outraged expressions on Marcus and Narcissa’s faces. “They are ever so accommodating.”

Lucius’s eyes glint with silent rage… and something else. A challenge? He’s probably wondering why you are daring to speak.

“Indeed? I am delighted to hear so.” He grits through a clenched jaw. “Well do enjoy your dinner then, Miss Hyde. You are dismissed for the evening.”

You arch an eyebrow, smirking. Sure enough, his guests are shocked by his behavior.

“Very well. Good night.” You say, even giving a small bow for added effect.

You gesture to Marcus to take the record player from his hands but he doesn’t budge, once again locked in a staring competition with Lucius.

Narcissa gasps, looking positively terrified, as she grabs at Lucius’s arm.

“You cannot mean to tell me that she will truly dine with the _elves_ , Lucius.” She glances towards Marcus for reassurement when Lucius gives her none. Neither pay her any attention. “Will she?” She whispers fearfully.

“Oh, not to worry Miss Black. The simple porridge that they serve me twice a day is nutritious enough to keep working, really. Don’t worry about me.” You assure her with false meekness, and it takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. “Mr. Gaunt, my record player if you will please.”

The Viscount laughs in delight.

“Oh, you are positively delightful. A little spitfire.” He puts his hand on your shoulder again, beaming, and it's mildly condescending how he ignores your request. That or Lucius is just pissing you off. “Please, do call me Marcus. It’s such a shame Lucius has kept you hidden for so long.”

You shrug, nonplussed, still waiting for a response to your request. It was clear by the look on Narcissa’s face that she worried you actually only ate a simple porridge twice a day.

You almost felt bad for teasing her, since you knew so many uppity women to whom the idea of dining next to a house elf would be the end of their world. The elves were a bit odd, but completely harmless, you’d found.

You don’t bother reassuring her that in fact, you had never eaten better in your life than you had since your stay began at the Malfoy manor. You had half expected the food to be boring and bland but the elves seemed to have lots of options readily available whenever you came to the kitchens to eat.

It was nice not having to do any cooking or grocery shopping for a change, so you really couldn’t complain.

Still, you can’t bear to be in the presence of such gritting irritation, seeing her fawn all over Lucius any longer. You offer your hand for the record player again.

Marcus takes your hand instead, tugging you to his side.

“I must insist, Lucius.”

“Oh, Marcus.” Narcissa sighs, “We better not interfere. After all, this household has, well, very _specific_ rules and we must respect them.”

Lucius still says nothing, gaze narrowed and focused at the point where you and the Viscount are joined. His eyes finally meet yours, silently challenging you to disobey him.

You almost do, gladly, but then Marcus turns to you, eyes flashing with delight at the unspoken challenge presented to him.

While you were certain the viscount never attended Hogwarts, he most certainly would have been in the equivalent of Slytherin house wherever he went to school.

“Well, Estella.” Marcus says, “If Lucius won’t have you for dinner, why don’t I just help you carry your things and then you and I could dine together? Porridge sounds perfectly delightful.” He gives you a wink.

You can’t help but smile back.

He is rather tall and handsome, but it’s the way he has taken a stand in your defence when he barely knows you that piques your interest. Meanwhile, has Lucius proved yet again that he sees nothing in you and never will.

If you were being honest with yourself, it absolutely delighted you to push your employer’s buttons and entertain his guest’s flirtations.

Especially now as Lucius’s gaze meets yours, because his silent challenge has sparked something inside of you that had been dormant for the past few weeks.

A desire for revenge. That must be it. You wanted revenge against Lucius for having the audacity to kiss you while he was engaged to another woman. It had nothing at all to with how that kiss made you feel, or how it felt to see him with another woman fawning all over him.

Even now, you didn’t owe him anything, certainly not your loyalty and definitely not the time of day beyond your professional attachment to him. And really, who were you to refuse a handsome French Viscount for dinner after weeks of dining alone?

You look up at Marcus’s mischievous blue eyes, as an idea forms in your head.

“Well, I suppose some company would be nice for a change.” You tell him, “That is, as long as Mr. Malfoy doesn’t protest. It is his home, after all. I would _hate_ to cause any trouble.”

You turn to Lucius with a false, docile smile. His eyes narrow and darken as they regard you. He exhales sharply through his nose. He glances briefly at his guests before returning his displeased scowl back to you. Then he exhales, eyes dark as ever.

“I suppose tonight we can make an exception to the rule.” Lucius says, shockingly calm. He wraps an arm around his fiancee, seemingly absentmindedly. “Can’t we?”

You watch his suspicious change in demeanor carefully. He was too calm in the face of such defiance. Perhaps he really never cared what you did at all. At least it was clear now.

Marcus, however, simply gives you that wicked grin and offers you his free arm.

“Well then, shall we?”

You slip your hand in the crook of the handsome viscount’s elbow, trying not to let your smile falter. “Certainly.”

The viscount looks positively smug as you take the first steps away together. There’s something lurking beneath those smoldering blue eyes, and frankly, you can’t wait to know what it is. Lucius be damned.

“You misunderstand me.” Lucius calls out before you can leave. “Miss Hyde, you will join _all of us_ for dinner tonight.”

Lucius even smiles, and it’s the stiffest, sad excuse for a smile you’ve ever seen. His eyes flash in dark warning, though. Narcissa puts a hand on his shoulder affectionately and audibly sighs in relief.

“Oh, good.” Narcissa smiles, “I was worried for a moment, there…”

“Well, if you insist it’s alright, Mr. Malfoy.” You bite your lip to hold back a triumphant grin. Lucius’s icy blue eyes hold yours for a long moment, but he says nothing in response.

“Perfect.” Marcus says. “Although, I would be far from a gentleman if I allowed you to carry these heavy things on your own. Where to?”

You flush at the implication of your next words, turning to him. “My room, actually.”

Marcus gives you a crooked smile. “Oh? How forward of you, Miss Hyde.”

You find yourself laughing in response. Marcus’s smile stretches impossibly wider. He’s clearly pleased with himself for making you laugh. You’re thankful that he’s here to relieve some of the tension. You’re glad not all purebloods are so uppity and stiff.

“I like a woman that knows what she wants.” He declares. “To your boudoir then, shall we?”

You grin, “Okay, it’s just up the-”

“Nonsense.” Lucius interrupts, walking over to take the record player roughly from his hands, and swiftly lifting the heavy satchel from your shoulder. He holds them at his sides with seemingly no effort. “My elves are perfectly capable of assisting with such trifling matters. Dobby will take your things, Miss Hyde. We will all go to dinner together, won’t we?”

You frown. Narcissa looks like she’s about to speak but Lucius’s pause is only a fraction of a moment.

“Good. It’s all settled then.” Lucius says, smirking as he looks in your direction. _Bastard._

“Ah? Very well.” Marcus’s smile never falters, but his eyes darken in intensity. “Perhaps another time then, lovely Estella.”

“Certainly.” You reply, politely. “Perhaps another time.”

You wish you had a camera to document the deep scowl on Lucius’s face as he calls upon Dobby. It’s priceless. Why was he so worked up anyway?

Was it because he was embarrassed to entertain his guests with a mudblood in the room?

Dobby apparates in front of you and takes the record player and your satchel from Lucius, and you follow Lucius and Narcissa to the dining room. Marcus lingers behind with you.

“I liked the song you played in the library earlier. The American muggle man, Sinatra wasn't it?” Marcus asks you. “He has a distinctive voice.”

“Yes, Frank Sinatra.” You reply, “I didn’t know that French noblemen listened to muggle music”

Marcus shrugs, “I am noble by birth, but an artist by choice. You may be surprised to learn that I enjoy listening to all types of music when I’m working.”

“An artist?” You ask, unable to contain your excitement, “What kind of mediums do you work with?”

“I enjoy painting with oils, mostly.” He grins, “Though, I do dabble in ink drawings and sculpture once in a while.”

You can’t hold back the genuine smile, “How interesting. I love looking at art, though I've never made any myself.”

Lucius glances over his shoulder at you two before turning sharply ahead when you catch him. What was his deal? Was it some pureblood rule that you were not allowed to speak while walking somewhere? He and Narcissa were silent, standing at least four feet apart.

You suddenly feel self conscious about how close Marcus is to you, then. If engaged couples stood so far apart, then perhaps it was indecent for you to be practically brushing arms with a man you had just met.

“Oh, it's not so interesting.” Marcus says, shrugging, although you detect a hint of false modesty. This man seems entirely confident and proud of himself from the way he carries himself. Your eyes drift to Lucius, who also stands tall, commanding authority. How similar, yet very different these men are.

“If I have many creative ventures, it’s simply because I find office work dreadful. I could never be the stiff businessman as my father hoped for me to be.” He chuckles.

Stiff businessman. Ha! You look forward at Lucius, who is walking as if there’s a rod permanently stuck up his arse. That’s exactly what Lucius is. Stiff. Though, he’s also hopelessly handsome. So he has that going for him... _bastard._

“Do you have any hobbies?” Marcus asks, bringing your attention back to him.

“Yes, well... I enjoy reading and... watching old muggle films. You know, the kind that are in black and white. The ones where they sing and dance.” You tell him, admittedly gushing a bit after not having a soul to speak to in weeks. “And also I love listening to music, as you witnessed earlier.”

“Ah, Sinatra?”

“Yes. Lately lots of Sinatra.”

“I must look into this muggle man, if he comes by your recommendation,” Marcus says.

You laugh, “My recommendation? Oh, I don’t know. Sinatra’s been around for decades, you know. My collection is a bit outdated for muggle music.”

“Well I liked it. Maybe you can show me some more of your music before I leave?” His hands are in his pockets as he asks this, giving you a charming grin.

You smile, facing forward again. The dining room is just ahead.

“I don’t know.”You say. “A person’s music collection is quite personal, you might judge me.”

“Judge you?” Marcus feigns shock, grinning. “Believe me, Estella, I don’t care to pass judgement on anyone or anything. Live and let live, I say. Maybe I could show you mine in return, someday.”

Lucius clears his throat, and you pointedly ignore him and whatever kind of look he’s sending your way.

“Well, then I’d love that.” You reply to Marcus, smiling as the doors are opened and you step forward into the dining room.

You follow Lucius and Narcissa past the long table where you dined with Lucius weeks ago, into a room with a much smaller table. This time, there are just four chairs and four place settings in the center. It’s only _slightly_ less grand than the main dining room, and much cozier, with a fireplace and a smaller, yet equally dazzling chandelier.

As Lucius and Narcissa take seats opposite one another, you hesitate, unsure where to sit. You reach for the chair next to Narcissa. She smiles patronizingly at you.

“Estella, dear, you must sit next to Lucius.” She informs you, “At a smaller table such as this, Couples must sit opposite one another, and then it’s alternating seatings of men and women.”

You smile stiffly, walking over to the viscount who had pulled the other chair out for you. As you sit he helps your chair forward. For a moment, his gesture distracts you from the word _couples_ , but then it’s all you can think about. Lucius and Narcissa would sit opposite one another for the rest of their lives.

“Thank you, Marcus.” You mutter, and he gives you a sly smile as he sits across from you.

 _This is fine._ You assure yourself, although you’re starting to feel doubtful. Because now you have to endure Lucius with Narcissa. You turn your body slightly away from his, keeping your legs to the opposite side of your chair.

Almost immediately after you have all settled in, Lucius excuses himself. He returns a few minutes later with a bottle of red wine. He opens the bottle himself and pours everyone a glass. As he focuses on his wandwork, pouring the last glass, he leans slightly towards you, leg brushing yours.

You choose to ignore it, scooting a fraction away to create space again. He then ‘relaxes’ into his chair, as rigid as ever. He’s acting so strange.

You decide to focus on your glass of wine, taking a sip. It’s the best wine you’ve ever had. You reluctantly glance at him, ready to offer your compliments, but Marcus beats you to it.

“Excellent choice, Lucius.” He says, relaxing back in his seat, body language open. “Although I usually prefer white, I do love a good cabernet. Speaking of which, perhaps soon you will have a chance to try the wine I sent you?”

You almost choke on the next sip, and cover it with a clearing of your throat. A faint blush covers your cheeks.

“You make wine?” You say, trying to inject some enthusiasm into your voice to cover up how you’re freaking out. He couldn’t _know_ could he? You need to step in and redirect this conversation. “An artist and a winemaker. What can’t you do, Marcus?”

“Careful, Miss Hyde.” Marcus says, “Flattery will get you everywhere with me.” He gives you a wink.

“You sent Lucius some of your wine?” Narcissa asks, turning towards the viscount.

You stiffen.

“But of course, Narcissa.” Marcus smiles, eyes sparkling with mischief. “After all, you two will be married soon enough, I figured that trying it together would be a good way for you two to break the ice and… You know, feel more _comfortable_ around one another before the wedding.”

You feel for a moment like you've lost your appetite.

“Oh, Marcus, you're shameful.” Narcissa blushes, smiling at Lucius. You look away, intently swirling the wine in your glass for far longer than necessary.

“You know I would never drink anything like that. It’s unladylike.” Narcissa continues.

Marcus looks right at you then, still grinning.

“Forgive me, Estella.” He says, “You’re probably wondering what we mean and I’d hate to not include you. See, my wine has special properties”

“Oh?” Your voice wavers as you smile politely, trying to keep calm.

“Special properties! What he means is, he drugs his wine!” Narcissa declares after a long sip from her glass. “It’s all so terrible.”

Marcus rolls his eyes. “I don’t _drug_ it, darling. I _enhance_ it. The potions  
I use are all legal, in France anyway”

“Enhance it? how so?” You ask, wanting to play it cool, but also wondering if you had missed anything when you read the label. Maybe side effects included the lingering desire to slap Lucius across his stupidly pretty face.

“Oh, well I could show you _exactly_ how at my winery sometime, if you’d like.” Marcus offers smoothly.

Lucius chuckles humorlessly, setting his glass down with a loud thunk as he glares pointedly at the viscount.

“And what type of _enhancements_ did you put into the wine you sent me, Marcus?” Lucius asks, calmly, rolling his shoulders back, “Because, curiously enough, no card accompanied the bottle. If it hadn't been your name on the bottle, I might never have never known.”

“Marcus!” Narcissa exclaims, “You know Lucius doesn’t know French. What if he didn’t read the label?”

Marcus shrugged, laughing. “Well you do and I _hoped_ that you two would drink it together. It’s just a small dose of befuddlement potion. Not enough to make you go crazy or anything. Just enough to slightly lower your inhibitions. I promise, _on my honor._ ” He declares the last part dramatically.

“Your honor. _Please_. No honorable man would ever behave as you do.” Narcissa giggles, and for the first time you send a genuine smile in her direction.

It’s nice to get a glimpse of her teasing someone in good nature, acting like a normal woman and not some cookie cutter pureblood princess. It reminds you of when you first met her. Perhaps you could put your jealousy aside and be friendly. It wasn’t likely, but it _could_ happen. Besides, it's Lucius who deserves your anger. Narcissa is innocent, as far as you know.

The conversation steers away from the wine to Marcus and his so-called honor. As Narcissa and Marcus bicker, you finally allow yourself a glance in Lucius's direction. He looks down at you, and you study his eyes, which is a bad idea. Because instead of feeling nothing as you expected to, it’s still there. That fluttering feeling inside your stomach.

You bite your lip, trying not to think about how this proximity makes you remember the last time you were so close to him.

Narcissa asks something and you both turn sharply away, resting your forearms on the table. But then you're _touching_ , so you jerk your arm away, reaching for your wine glass.

It’s a relief when the first course appears on the table, for more than one reason. First, it's a vegetable dish, and it looks delicious. And secondly, you can avoid looking at the bastard from here on out.

Narcissa frowns, brows furrowed.

“I thought you said we were having seafood?” She says. All eyes, including yours, fall on Lucius.

Lucius subtly shrugs, hardly shifting his broad shoulders with the motion. He clears his throat.

“Not tonight,” He says simply, offering Narcissa a tight smile.

It works in your favor that this dish is one of your favorite’s. One that the elves had taken to preparing for you almost every evening since your arrival by your request, so you don’t speak.

This time at dinner, you eat all the courses, laughing and chatting with the company. Lucius looks a bit tense throughout dinner, though then again, he’s always tense. It’s not your job to worry about him.

He is especially silent as you and Narcissa speak for extended times about your education and hobbies. You both went to university in big cities and you both collected lingerie.

Narcissa explains to the men how you two met in her aunt’s lingerie shop.

Marcus is especially attentive at the change of subject, “Estella, how come when I asked your hobbies earlier, you didn’t mention this?” He teases you. “Do tell me more about your collection, I’m sure you have excellent taste. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours- OW!”

You can’t help but laugh as Narcissa shoves him hard for you.

“Hush!” She squeals, laughing, “You can’t say such things and still call yourself honorable, now can you Marcus?”

“Ah, you’re right.” Marcus grins, holding his hands up in defeat.

“Men.” Narcissa says, rolling her eyes.

But even she is smiling. Reluctantly, you can’t find a fault in her. You actually like her. Which makes you feel worse about the kiss.

\------------

Dinner ends quite late, and you’re very full and satisfied. It was more than the dinner that had you in a good mood, though.

You were one third finished with your work, and you suspected the top two floors of the library would go by even faster than the first floor had, since there was less ground to cover on the shorter shelves.

Already, you’re excited to finish early and rub your victory in Lucius Malfoy’s face.

As you all get up to leave the dinner table, Marcus approaches you.

“Estella, forgive me,” He says, “I know we’ve spent nearly all of tonight together, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Would you like to go for a walk in the gardens with me?” He asks, smiling hopefully.

Again, there is something mischievous lurking beneath his smile. You’re curious what it is, and he _is_ rather charming, so you tell him. “Sure.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Marcus.” Lucius says, and your smile falls as you see the cold look on Lucius’s face. “You see, Estella and I have a matter to discuss regarding her work.”

“Oh?” Marcus says, eyes glinting with that delight of a challenge.

“This late, darling?” Narcissa frowns. “Oh, let them go. I was hoping we could spend some time alone too.” 

She gives a pointed look at Marcus, who rests a hand on your shoulder, utterly relaxed.

“I’m sorry, _dear_ ,” He looks so uncomfortable as he speaks, and you’re loving every second of it.

You watch him expectantly, chin lifted in defiance. What possible excuse could he have for his guests to talk to you this late at night?

“The matter just occurred to me during dinner. I’m afraid it’s urgent.” He doesn’t offer any further explanation.

You arch an eyebrow at him and he darts his gaze back to Narcissa with a tight smile.

Narcissa pouts. “Very well Marcus, shall we retire for the evening?”

Marcus leads her away, sending you one last wolfish grin. “Adieu, Estella. I hope to see you again tomorrow.”

When you and Lucius are alone, he finally turns to you, squaring his broad shoulders in your direction. He exhales, jaw unclenching.

“Follow me.” He says in a calm tone, turning to the hallway.

You do your best to keep up with his long strides. “To where?”

“My office.” He replies evenly, “I think it’s time we discuss your work.”

“My work?” You repeat in disbelief. But you had finished the _entire_ first floor. What was there to discuss?

“Yes.” He snaps, calm demeanor slipping. “Your work. Do keep up.”


	13. Chapter 13

**The grandfather clock in the corner of Lucius’s office ticks and ticks, filling the silent room.** You sit across from him, waiting expectantly as he writes on a piece of parchment.

So much for an ‘urgent matter.’

You shift in your seat, crossing one leg over the other. More silence. You sigh, leaning back in the chair. Lucius looks up for a moment, eyes sweeping over you as if his warning stare was enough to fix you on the spot.

As if he could do anything to keep you here if you wanted to leave. If he didn’t speak soon, you were definitely going to.

You were starting to suspect that there wasn’t a legitimate reason for his interruption after dinner, after all. Right now, you could be strolling the gardens with the handsome viscount, but Lucius just _had_ to go and spoil things.

You scowl at him as he takes his sweet time writing, then just as slowly he folds the letter and seals it with wax. Finally, he passes it off to a snowy white owl. Even the bird seems to flutter away impatiently.

At last, exhaling slowly, Lucius squares his shoulders and faces you once more. You sit up straight, uncrossing your legs as you stare expectantly at him.

His blue eyes penetrate yours and he seems to assess you silently. You refuse to cower and avert your eyes.

He’s really not going to speak? You narrow your gaze at him. Fine. Two can play that game.

Well, perhaps if it were two other people, because right now you’ve _had it._

“Well, I’m awfully tired. If you have nothing to say, I’ll be off to bed, then.” You announce irritably. You’re on your feet in a flash, nerves sufficiently grated for one evening.

Lucius is not having it. “Have _a seat_ , Miss Hyde.” His tone does not invite argument. As if that would stop you.

You arch an eyebrow, and he lifts his chin in challenge. Lucky for him, you’re curious what exactly he wanted to talk about so badly that he wouldn’t spend time with his fiance or leave you alone with Marcus.

You hold his gaze for another moment before sitting back down, arms crossed over your chest.

A triumphant smirk lifts the corners of his mouth. It makes your blood boil.

“It has come to my attention that you have made extensive progress on your assignment.” He says, and you feel your shoulders relax tentatively in relief.

Praise. He wanted to praise your work. This was unexpected.

“However,” He continues, “It has come to my attention that you have failed to include the newest works in the collection on the first floor.”

You frown, racking your brain for what books you had forgotten. But you can’t. You’ve come to know that library like the back of your hand.

You clear your throat. “Newest works?”

“Yes,” He answers you, perfectly calmly.

“I didn’t know... when did they arrive? I haven’t seen them.” You say, biting your lip in confusion.

“Of course you didn’t know.” He says, eyes glinting with that infuriating, dark expression. He’s up to something, “I’ve only sent the order for them just now.”

You draw your eyebrows together in disbelief. “You… That’s what you were doing just now?” Your tone is remarkably calm, but inside it’s like a volcano of simmering rage just exploded.

Your eyes squint as you look him over contemplatively. Was it really possible to be that much of a bastard?

He watches you carefully for a reaction, not needing to say anything for you to know he’s pleased with himself.

You can’t have that.

“Well I suppose I can make room for them.” You shrug, “I’ll just amend the ledger and sort out the rest whenever they arrive. How many items is it?”

His deep blue eyes glint mischievously, though his face betrays no emotion. He picks up a piece of parchment from his desk, walking around to the front of the desk.

He leans against the deep mahogany as he stands before you. Silently, he hands to you what appears to be an order form. His eyes are trained on you as you scan it’s contents.

It’s from a French publishing company, and it’s a long scroll full of many, many listings. Books and other items. Next to each listing is a corresponding item number. You scan down the list at the tiny print, heart sinking at the number at the bottom.

Two hundred. Two hundred items.

“But…” Your protest dies in your throat.

This wouldn’t make for an easy reorganization. Not at all. The shelves were already packed pretty tightly. Where would you even make room for such things? You would have to remake both the ledgers you just completed, and then you wouldn’t even be started on the second and third floors.

You look up from the parchment staring dead ahead, which lands you somewhere at the bottom of his torso. You gulp down your feelings. You can’t look him in the eye. You might strangle him. Maybe hex him. Or cry. Perhaps even pull all of your hair out. Or his.

You count to five and then when that doesn’t work, to ten.

Be a professional. A professional. Don’t get sent to Azkaban for homicide. Your grip on the arm of the chair is so tight you might snap it in half

Think. Quickly. Why would he do this?

French. They were French. For Narcissa, of course. He was ordering them for Narcissa. This had nothing to do with you.

“Very well,” You say in a hoarse whisper, and he smiles wickedly. You clear your throat. “However, we will have to renegotiate my contract. I will be requiring additional pay for the additional work that is now required of me, and for… several other reasons.”

“Very well.” Lucius arches a full eyebrow at you as you finally meet his eyes. “Such as?”

You glance over your shoulder, finding the door closed.

“You know very well what reasons I am referring to, Mr. Malfoy.”

He watches you unwaveringly. “Do I?”

“Yes. Reasons which your fiancé would not be happy with, I’m sure.” You stand from the chair, shoving the parchment roughly back into his hands.

He takes the parchment, also capturing your hands in his.

“Are you threatening me?” He asks, softly.

His deep, calm tone and the way his hands feel holding yours- warm and just a bit rough, send sparks up your arm in a way they really shouldn’t.

“Never, Mr. Malfoy.” You stare defiantly into his eyes. His eyes flicker downwards as you pull your hands away. “I am only thinking in your best interest. Think about it… ”

You turn away, pretending to study the portraits in his office who have already gone to sleep.

“Your wedding is approaching quickly, I assume. You’ll want your home prepared for your new wife.” You’re relieved you don’t need to look him in the eye as you say this, because your gut twists as you imagine him married to her.

“I can’t help but feel that it would be in both of our best interests if I finished this assignment as quickly as possible. What good would it do to have me around longer than necessary? You’ve made it perfectly clear your opinion of me.”

“Then you will do well to finish on time.” He replies, infuriatingly calm. “Won’t you?”

You whirl around then, anger rising to a boiling point. He’s right behind you, but you’re too angry to jump in surprise.

“I will.” You say. “And then you will eat your words, Malfoy.”

“Will I?” He lifts an eyebrow

“Yes.” You tell him. “You once called me low class and silly-minded.”

He frowns. “I thought we decided not to discuss that night.”

“Actually, it was that morning.” You clarify, “In the conservatory.”

“Oh, yes.” He says, fingertips stroking his jaw. He looks away. “I suppose I did say that.”

“When I finish this task, and before your deadline, you’ll have to admit you were wrong about me.” You tell him. “I’ll have you know that I have worked hard to earn my job title as executive archivist. I am the youngest. I am the first female. And yes, I am the first _muggleborn_ in this position. So throw any obstacle my way, I dare you. Whatever it is, I _will_ overcome it.”

He smirks down at you, “You think very highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“No, I think accurately of myself. I work hard and I know my worth.” You glare up at him. “ “I will work hard until I am the best and most experienced archivist, internationally even.”

You dare him with your eyes to tell you otherwise.

“If you knew your worth,” He growls, pacing towards his desk and then back again. He runs a hand through his hair, opening and closing his mouth several times, “You would know that…”

He shakes his head. “You cannot expect to _ever_ reach your goal. No established company will hire you anywhere in all of magical Europe over someone of pure blood. It’s a fantasy. Who are you trying to prove yourself to?” He asks you incredulously.

“I work for myself and no one else. “ You snap. “And you may not agree, but I believe that the magical world is changing for the better. It’s becoming more inclusive. I _will_ get there someday, even if I’m old and grey when it happens.”

He squints his eyes at you. “You intend to work your entire life, then?”

You roll your eyes. “Most of us mere mortals do exactly that, Malfoy. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“You think I don’t work?” He shakes his head in your direction, as if he were explaining something to a child that they would never comprehend. “I have inherited the duty of running _four businesses_ and most importantly, I run _this household._ My family’s entire legacy. I don’t expect you to understand. ”

“Well, I don’t think about my clients beyond what they require of me, Mr. Malfoy.” You shrug, feigning disinterest.

Truthfully you hadn’t stopped thinking of him for weeks.

His eyes glint with something as he regards you.

You exhale, failing to bite back a swell of irritation at his silence. “And usually they stay out of _my_ personal matters in return.”

You couldn’t very well leave his interference with the viscount out of the conversation. Not in light of his engagement to Narcissa.

You couldn’t bear his audacity, either, bossing you around in front of his guests as if he owned you.

“I don’t care what you do in your free time.” He clenches both fists at his sides. “As long as you keep away from my guests, Miss Hyde. As I asked.”

There it is, the real reason he wanted to talk to you.

“I have always kept to myself, Mr. Malfoy.” You say, “And I will continue to do so.”

“Good.” He says, smiling smugly. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

You loathe him and his stupid, perfect, smug face.

“Though…” You shrug, sighing.

“Yes?”

“I certainly won’t ignore them if they happen to seek me out.”

“Is that so?” Lucius leans down to look you dead in the eye.

You don’t dare to speak, because then your lips will part. And if they do, you won’t be able to stop thinking about pressing them to his.

And he’s off limits, for a great number of reasons you seem to have momentarily forgotten. So instead, you slowly incline your head, nodding your answer.

“Very well.” He says hoarsely after a moment. “Come then, I will escort you back to your room. We can renegotiate your contract in the morning.”

You roll your eyes. “I can find my way on my own, thanks.”

He nods. “Very well.”

But he follows you anyway. So just to piss him off, you walk slower than usual, stopping at the statue of a man on a horse and then a painting of some creature that resembled a thestral.

All the while, you feel his gaze trained on you.

“ _Goodnight,_ Mr. Malfoy.” You call irritably over your shoulder.

“Goodnight, Miss Hyde.” He says, still lingering behind you.

What a control freak! He won’t even let you walk alone now.

Well too bad, because now he’s stuck leisurely strolling for a change.

As you look over the next painting, you hear an impatient exhale behind you. You turn on your heel to find him standing unnecessarily close to you in the dim hallway light.

“Why don’t you just go to bed and leave me alone?”

“I’m making sure you don’t get… lost.” He replies, looking disinterestedly at the wall of paintings.

“I’m not lost. My door is twenty meters away.” You huff, shooing him away.

He squints at your hands as they gesture for him to move along. His expression is unimpressed, like you’re a strange beast daring to step within his personal bubble.

“Then you should get to it, shouldn’t you?” He responds, indifferent as ever.

You huff, glaring at him as he steps forward into the light of the elaborate wall sconce next to you.

Looking up at him under the glow of candlelight is a mistake.

Your snide remark dies on your tongue. Because he looks ethereal. It’s awful how beautiful he is, blue eyes so angelic and warm as he stares down at you. You have to blink to remind yourself it’s just the lighting. He’s a cold, heartless prick.

He draws his brows together as he looks down at you.

“Do you intend to _ever_ retire to your room, Miss Hyde? Or are we to stand in this hallway all. night. long?” His voice is soft, but not quite a whisper as he accentuates each word. The sound makes you dizzy.

It does things to you. Your brain goes a bit fuzzy. You find your heart pattering excitedly, a betrayal, as he steps even closer.

“You can go. I’m not keeping you here.” You whisper snappily.

“No, you’re not.” He says, nodding his agreement. “Come on.”

He grabs you by your wrist, pulling you down the hallway, past your room.

“Mr. Malfoy!” You whisper-yell, tugging your arm back. “What are you doing?”

“If we’re going to stand around all night looking at art, I’d rather it be my personal collection.” He says, both eyebrows lifted in surprise or judgement as you come to a stop.

“Your…” You squint up at him, wondering if he’s well and truly lost his mind. “ _Why?_ ”

He shrugs, reaching for your hand again. “You said earlier that you liked looking at art, didn’t you?”

For once, you’re speechless in his presence.

And that’s how you find yourself standing in a room of the manor you’ve never seen. In the West wing.

He illuminates the room with his wand. Several chandeliers light up and fill the space with a beautiful warm light. The room is wide and tall, filled with many different statues and paintings. It’s beautiful. Immediately it feels much more intimate than the countless paintings that filled the hallways. There’s a cohesiveness to everything, a distinctive taste is apparent, even at first sight.

You look around in awe, grinning at the pale, rippling water in a majestic painting of a waterfall before gravitating towards a large statue. Lucius stands at your side as you look it over.

It looks like… well, it looks like him. Like Lucius, the statue also stands with rigid posture, although it has the excuse of not being a living, breathing person. Long hair, square jaw, full lips and brows. But the eyes… are just slightly different. Colder somehow.

Still, it’s uncanny to look from the statue back to him.

“Is this...?” You gesture to him.

“No.” He shakes his head, smirking as he looks down at you. “My father.”

“Wow.” You whisper, walking around the statue. Yes, you could see it now. His father was leaner than Lucius, less muscular and commanding. Fine frown lines at the corners of this man’s full lips and the crinkles of his eyes- where Lucius’s face was still young.

“The statue was commissioned posthumously. A gift from the Black family.”

You nod sympathetically. “You must miss him.”

Lucius only raises his eyebrows, saying nothing.

You understand that it must be painful to talk about, so you leave it alone. You wander over to a wall of paintings and change the subject. The first one catches your eyes. It’s a painting of a dirt path leading into the forest, a man and woman walking down the path out of sight. The woman twirling and skipping as the man smiles, watching her adoringly. The brush strokes are thick and well, scribbly? But the rich colors and shapes are clear enough to suggest what it all is.

“Can you tell me about this one?” You ask, hoping he will actually tell you about, and not dismiss you with some snobby remark.

He nods, scanning the impressionistic landscape for a moment, before turning to you.

“This was painted by Franc Regale in around 1862.” He tells you, and you lift your brows. Regale was to the magical society what Monet, Renoir, and Van Gogh were to muggle society. “It is a little known fact that ‘Franc’ was actually a pseudonym for a woman named Maria. She used a male friend to sell her work.”

“I’ve heard that theory.” You say, remembering a book on the subject.

“It is a fact.” He corrects you.

“Really? I like this one a lot better, then. Good for her.”

He narrows his gaze in your direction.

“Indeed she was. She painted this during a residency here at the manor. Though…” He says, “Now, I must remind you of the non-disclosure agreement you signed at the start of your stay...”

“I remember.” Your eyes light up in excitement. “I might be a number of things, but a gossip is not one of them. I can keep a secret, Mr. Malfoy.”

He seems to consider this for a moment before speaking.

“It was discovered that Maria, a muggleborn, had an affair with… a member of my household… during her stay here.”

“Wow.” You whisper, grinning. “I bet whoever it was, was promptly removed from the family tree.”

Together you step towards a tall portrait of a woman and a girl, and he nods, facing you.

“Indeed they were.” He says, watching you with an unreadable expression. You hold his gaze. It’s like his eyes are magnets that you can’t help but be drawn to, even in a room full of rare and precious artwork.

“In fact, my father always attributed the narrowing of our family’s bloodline- our dwindling number of heirs, to my great uncle’s indiscretion. A stain of impurity that tarnished the great Malfoy name so badly, that for decades it was frowned upon- at least in the other twenty seven families- to marry into our family and produce heirs. Of course, I couldn’t allow such a revealing work to be accessed by the public. This forest is at the edge of my property, and it would draw unwanted speculation, perhaps even bring to light evidence of the affair if collectors were to research it.”

“My, my.” You raise your eyebrows. “It must have been quite the _passionate_ affair.”

“Indeed.” Lucius nods,“Enough to nearly ruin my family to the point of there only being three true blood relatives left at the time I was born.”

You consider his words as you stare at the new painting. The woman, presumably the mother, brushes the long, golden hair of the little girl.

“Well surely these two are Malfoys, are they not?” You point to the blonde hair of the two figures, then smile up at him. He seems at a loss for words.

He shakes his head, turning away. “No they are not. This was my mother’s favorite painting.” He takes a few steps away to a statue encased by glass and you follow him.

“Alas, I am the last Malfoy. It is up to me to continue to restore the greatness to my family name, as my father did.”

You nod absentmindedly as you look at the bronze bust of a man with curly hair and a thick beard.

“That must be a lot to live up to.” You say after a minute. You look next at a painting of a forest and river, with several figures running between the trees.

“Although,” You continue, “I think that the Malfoy empire already seems… finished. Complete. I don’t see it as missing anything at all. Now you are the most powerful family name in the wizarding world… what more could you restore to a name of such high reputation? Though, what do I know, right?”

He lifts his shoulders in an absent minded shrug. Of course he would never discuss such things with you.

“Still, I think you and Narcissa will do just fine.” You say, voice slightly wavering. You place the best smile you can manage on your face. “I’m sure you will be very happy together.”

He looks at you so intensely, and you feel like the room’s air is too thick. Too stuffy. You need to get out of here.

“Will we?”

“Yes,”

Though, you don’t feel sincere saying so. Not at all.

He takes a step towards you, intensely focused on you.

“I-” You try to speak, to move away. Anything to stop the feeling his gaze stirs inside of you.

He pauses, raising a brow in question. You frown, staring at your feet.

“I, uh, I’ve got to go to bed.” You say, backing away from him. “Goodnight.”

When you’re a safe distance, you take off, speed-walking away from him.

“Miss Hyde.” He calls after you.

You stop just before the door, but you don’t look back.

“I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow morning to discuss your contract.” He says, “Goodnight.”


	14. Chapter 14

**It wasn’t easy to fall asleep after your meeting with Lucius.** Last night had been… intense. Between the strange standoff between Lucius and Marcus and the revelation that Lucius and Narcissa were actually _engaged to be married_ , things were just more than you felt capable of processing.

It was time you admitted to yourself that your thoughts about Lucius would never be strictly professional. You _felt something_ when he looked at you that you’ve never felt with anyone else.

Despite all of his cruelty, you crave him.

Some twisted part of you enjoys toying with Lucius to get a reaction out of him. You enjoy taking every chance you can to spite his close-minded, outdated, and classist views. When you made him angry, he looked at you like he wanted to do things with you… _to you._

Surprisingly, you had enjoyed his company last night, even when he spoke to you like a pest he couldn’t wait to be rid of. Because no matter what he said, he looked at you in a way that contradicted everything.

Like his resolve was snapping, and he wanted to beg you.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t want to beg him too. He just has that effect on you. He can get your blood boiling with just a few words. It’s wrong, but it’s out of your control.

It had been three weeks, and you still found yourself thinking about his lips. Deep down you know, though, nothing can come of your unrequited feelings for him. In just over a month, he will be married to Narcissa, moving on with his life.

You need to get out of his home and move on. As soon as you can.

Today you eye your chosen outfit on the hanger for a long while, and decide on a whim to transfigure the dress to be white instead of black. It makes a difference. Your skin looks luminous with the white fabric, as if you’d been on a holiday in the sun. Your eyes look lighter, happier. Even if you don’t feel that way.

For now, there are lots of things to look forward to that have nothing to do with men. For one: it’s breakfast time. And it’s sunny out, with the weather getting warmer every day. Soon it will be summer. Maybe you’ll go for a walk after lunch and enjoy the blooms of spring flowers when no one else is around.

Also, It’s a Saturday, so you technically aren’t required to work or be here at all. You could even apparate into town and catch a film at the cinema or have some wine in your flat, have some time away to really think.

You distract your mind with hopeful thoughts. It’s enough to lift your mood as you eat breakfast. Then it’s time to make your way to Lucius’s office for your meeting.

As you exit the kitchens, you find Marcus standing alone in the hallway. He’s looking out the window, seemingly deep in thought. As you pass him, you greet him absentmindedly as you think of things you should ask for in your new contract. You have an idea of what you want, but you don’t know how open Lucius will be to it.

“Good morning, Marcus.” You say quietly, head still in your thoughts.

He turns on his heel at the sound of your voice, smiling.

“Estella,” He says, “Just who I was looking for. You look absolutely lovely.”

“Me?” You reply absentmindedly as you continue past him.

It was time for your meeting with Lucius, so you couldn’t spend too long in the hallway. Although that would be a perfect way to annoy him, you want to get the most out of your contract terms, so you’ll hold off on pushing his buttons until afterwards.

Marcus catches up, easily falling into step with you.

“I was hoping that perhaps we could talk.” He says.

You smile to yourself, looking straight ahead.

“We are talking.” You reply, smirking.

“Ah, yes.” He pauses, turning his body towards you. “Well, then. Are you working today?”

“Possibly, yes.” You reply. “I’m about to find out. I have a meeting with Lucius now, actually.”

“Oh?” Marcus asks, furrowing his brows “Didn’t you meet last night?”

“Yes.” You agree, sighing bitterly. “Unfortunately he seems keen on wasting my time.”

Marcus laughs. “Are you not fond of Lucius, then?”

His blue eyes twinkle in amusement.

You slow your step, angling your body to face him.

“He’s my employer.” You say, “It doesn’t matter what my personal opinion is of him.”

Marcus blinks, eyebrows shooting up. “My apologies, it’s none of my business.”

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment. Great. Now Lucius’s uptight, bastard-like tendencies were rubbing off on you.

“Sorry,” You sigh and look over your shoulder to check that the bastard isn’t there. “Just last night he decided to order two hundred more books for Narcissa and now I have to redo the entire first floor. I’m on a deadline, and I-”

“For Narcissa?” Marcus says, stroking his thumb along his defined jaw. “But she despises reading… how odd.”

You shrug, feeling confused yourself. Why did Lucius order them so suddenly then?

It would be an easy way to spite you. But why would he bother doing something like that? If he thought so lowly of you, why didn’t he let you just finish up and leave? This all should have been sufficient revenge for hogging the charms book in seventh year.

“Yes, odd indeed.” You continue down the hallway and Marcus walks at your side. “Well, anyway now I need to renegotiate my contract because it’s added more work to my deadline..”

“Hmm. I hope it goes well for you, then, Estella. Will you be in the library later?” Marcus asks, taking your hand and bringing your attention back to him.

He surveys you as he waits for your answer, running his thumb over the back of your hand. Like in a trance, you gaze up at him.

“Yes.” You answer, “It’s practically my second home at this point.”

“So I’ve gathered... Well, perhaps I can steal you away in the afternoon for a stroll around the grounds?” Marcus asks.

“Uh…” You glance over your shoulder again and nearly jump out of your skin when you see Lucius stalking down the hallway in your direction. His eyes narrow as they take in you and the viscount. You jerk your gaze and hand away nervously. “Well…”

At the same, Marcus tilts his head in amusement. “Or perhaps we can have dinner together tonight? What do you say?”

“Er…” You feel at a loss for words. “Sure. I’d like that.”

“Wonderful.” Marcus grins triumphantly, his eyes darting just over your shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”

Marcus leaves you in the hallway then, heading back the way you came. Then it’s just you. And _him._ The frigid bastard himself.

He doesn’t have to speak for you to know he’s standing behind you, glaring at you from behind.

“Good morning, Mr. Malfoy.” You turn around with a hesitant smile.

His gaze snaps back up from whatever part of you he was glaring at. He’s dressed sharply in a navy suit, looking like royalty or something. It’s unfair.

He seems to take a measured breath before he _smiles_ at you.

“Good morning, Miss Hyde.” He replies, in an unusually civil tone.

It makes you nervous to see him like this.

Without further conversation, you both begin to walk towards his office. This time, he strides at your side rather than ten feet in front of you.

You’re grateful it’s a short walk because you don’t know what to do with yourself with him by your side. Speed up? Slow down? When you sneak a glance at him, he’s looking forward down the hall, perfectly composed like always. The window sunlight fans over his shiny, silky hair and pale blue eyes. He smells clean, like he’s just gotten out of the shower.

That delicious spicy, musky aftershave radiates from him. As if sensing your staring, he tilts his head and looks at you. A smirk forms on his full lips, and your heart flutters in betrayal. You focus ahead for the rest of the walk.

He walks up the steps to his office and opens the door for you. When you step inside, he closes it behind you. As he walks over to his chair, he removes his suit jacket, leaving him in a black button up shirt. You take a seat opposite him as he rolls up his sleeves to his elbows.

You have to physically tear your gaze away and remind yourself he’s _taken_ and _a prick_ and it doesn’t matter how _strong_ his forearms look. You shouldn’t be ogling him. Instead, you turn your gaze towards his decor.

After a full minute of silence, lost in your thoughts, you glance back towards him. He’s leaned back in his chair, jaw unclenched as he looks at you.

“Did you sleep well, Miss Hyde?” He’s poised, relaxed, calm. Pleasant, even. You don’t trust him one bit.

“Perfectly, Mr. Malfoy.” You say. “And yourself?”

He simply nods. After another beat of silence, he leans forward, collecting a file from his desk and sliding it forward towards you.

“So.” Lucius says. “You wanted to discuss your contract.”

You bob your head, gathering the file from the table.

“This is your current contract.” He continues, eyes studying you with some unknown challenge. “Please feel free to tell me what you would like to amend.”

Then he leans back in his chair, watching you.

You scan through the file. It seems thicker than you remembered. It all seems in place, however, and it makes you wonder why you never noticed so many clauses and items. You had signed your life away to this snake of a man without a second thought, all because he dazzled you with his good looks.

You wouldn’t be making that same mistake again.

“I believe you requested a pay increase, did you not?” Lucius asks, his voice silky and deep. “Is there anything else you wish for?”

His deep voice asking you what you _wish for_ almost has your thoughts wandering, but you clear your throat and forcibly ground yourself back to reality.

“Yes.” You answer. “I want a written agreement that no further items will be added to the library’s collection while I work, as to meet the deadline on time, of course.”

“Of course.” He replies calmly.

No argument? No sneaking a clause within a clause? You eye him suspiciously before continuing.

“And…”

“And?”

“I want to shorten my required contract term. As you’ve seen, I am perfectly capable of finishing on time, if not earlier. I’ve noticed while re-reading the clause that the two months were previously required. When I’m done here I would prefer to move on to another assignment through the AAA.”

“Naturally.” Lucius nods, “We’ll strike the mandatory time clause.”

You squint at him suspiciously. He’s awfully agreeable today.

“Anything else, Miss Hyde?”

“Yes, actually.” You say, testing the waters. He merely nods, patiently waiting for you to continue. “When I finish my assignment, I want you to write me a letter of recommendation.”

His eyes narrow but his lips twitch up into a smile.

“Oh?”

You nod.

“For what reason?”

 _For what reason?! Oh, the audacity of this man._ But you have to consider your words carefully.

“For when I apply for other jobs,” You shrug. “For my own personal satisfaction… Does it matter? Those are my terms.”

His expression is unreadable. It’s less outwardly pleasant, but not exactly hostile.

“I wouldn’t be able to agree to such a thing in contract. Say your job is not performed to my satisfaction, could I in good conscience recommend you then?”

You scowl. “You know very well the quality of my work. I’ve been here three weeks and accomplished what an average team couldn’t do in two months.”

Lucius shrugs. “I believe that remains to be seen. I have yet to inspect it myself, so I won’t agree to anything of that sort in contract”

“Well, then it _remains to be seen_ whether or not I can add those new works to the collection on the first floor.” You say, shrugging back at him.

Lucius smirks, “Very well.”

You blink. “Very well?”

“You can put the new works on another floor of the library.”

“Oh… okay.” You sigh in relief.

“However…” Lucius says. “If you want to earn my recommendation, I will need to supervise you more thoroughly, won’t I?”

You can’t help the hopeful smile on your face. “So you’ll really consider it?”

He gives a curt nod, before returning to his paperwork. That small movement gives you a renewed wave of hope. You can’t help but beam at him, even though he isn’t looking.

“I have other work to do.” He says, “You may return to your assignment. We’ll discuss this on Monday when my guests are gone. In the meantime I will draft up your requests.”

“Okay.” You respond, still grinning. “Monday, then.”

He glances up, eyebrows raised.

“Oh and Miss Hyde?” His finger travels across his lip as if to conceal the smirk on his lips. “You never requested a number.”

“A number?”

“Your pay increase.”

“Oh, right.” Your smile falters. “Just… more?”

He arches an eyebrow, smirking arrogantly.

“I care more about the letter of recommendation.” You offer in explanation, “Having someone of your standing attest to my work ethic would be worth infinitely more than any raise.”

He nods slowly. “Right. We’ll do five percent more.”

You can’t help but feel a bit defeated. Still, he hadn’t said no.

You stand to leave, but linger at his desk.

“Yes?” He sighs, setting his quill down..

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.” You smile at him. His gaze lingers on yours uncertainly before he nods.

You bounce to your feet, much more enthusiastic and ecstatic than you were before. You don’t linger, heading right back to work.

Then you’re starting work on the second floor of the library. You take your kit and your record player up to the first alcove at the top of the stairs and begin to map out your next steps.

You are alone only for a few hours before the Viscount wanders in, walking around the first floor. You watch in amusement from your spot up the stairs as he searches around for something.

“Looking for something, Marcus?” You call out to him.

He finds you, and a small smirk lifts his lips. “Just you, lovely Estella.”

You smirk, rolling your eyes at his open flattery. “And what for?”

He feigns hurt as he walks up the stairs. “Why, our stroll through the gardens, of course.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “I can’t.”

He starts towards the staircase. “Why ever not?”

You sigh, gesturing to the massive pile of books you’ve created on the table behind you.

“I have my work cut out for me,” You sigh. “I was going to take the afternoon off, but the sooner I finish, the sooner I can leave this place.”

Marcus smiles. “So eager to leave? Lucius must really be giving you a hard time.”

You shrug, hesitant to bash your employer openly to one of his friends. “Well, he’s probably just stressed about the wedding. I imagine there’s lots to do before the big day.”

Marcus smiles to himself, tapping his lip with his index finger.

“Oh, but don't you know? The wedding is arranged,” He says, “The Malfoy and the Black families have been planning their wedding since they were children. I can’t imagine he has much to do other than show up in a tux and provide her a home. It’s the bride’s family who plans all the details of the wedding.”

This takes you by surprise. An arranged marriage? The way they had acted, was as if they were a couple by choice. Or at least Narcissa had acted like that.

“Did you think they were _in love?_ ” Marcus teases, smirking.

You shrug, careful not to react strongly. “They aren’t?”

Marcus laughs openly, shaking his head.

“No, no. It’s all to keep old money with old money, Estella.” He continues. “Nothing romantic about it, I assure you. They might be friendly, but neither of them cares much for the other beyond their duty to their families.”

He smiles to himself, looking out the window. Something feels off about this information, but you can’t put your finger on it. You don’t dare to allow yourself hope.

You don’t know Marcus enough to give your opinion, and you knew better than to gossip with someone who hasn't earned your trust. The safest route is to feign neutrality.

“Well,” You shrug pointedly. “It’s none of my business.”

“Right,” His eyebrows draw together, “Of course not. I just thought you should know.”

You nod. “What about you?” You ask him to change the subject. It still made you feel sick when you thought about Lucius marrying Narcissa out of duty to his family. Because of course he would. His family was everything to him, as much as he had made clear last night.

“Me?” He grins, stepping closer to you. “What would you like to know?”

“Do you have some wealthy heiress you’re promised to?” You ask, smirking.

He considers this for a moment before taking another step towards you. “Who wants to know?”

“I don’t know,” You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Let’s say… Inquiring minds.”

He nods assuredly, playing along with a sly smirk.

“Right.” He says with a glint in his eyes. “Well the short answer is... no. Not anymore. To tell the truth, I loved someone who chose to marry someone else. Someone that her family thought was more suitable. Therefore I no longer have any nuptial attachments, at present.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” You say, biting your lip. How awful to lose someone you love to another.

He steps forward again, and now you’re backed up against the bookshelf. Which is a good distraction. Because he’s tall and handsome and very _close_ to you. For a moment, you forget everything else, wondering what he will do next.

“I’m not.” He lifts his hand, thumb trailing over your lower lip, pulling it from your teeth. “I consider myself free, now, to enjoy my time alone. With _whoever_ I want.”

His gaze is intense as he regards you, but beneath all his confidence and bravado, he seems… hurt. In his eyes, beneath the passion is sadness.

“But…” Your eyebrows draw together as he leans closer. “You love her still, don’t you?”

He exhales, pausing, but he doesn’t move away. “Something like that... but it matters not. What’s done is done.”

For a moment you are just silently staring at his inviting lips. You wonder if despite his confession, he will press them to yours.

“Marcus?” A soft voice calls from the first floor. It’s Narcissa. “Are you in here?”

Marcus pulls away, as if in a trance. A neutral expression covers his face. He seems to consider something for a moment before he turns to the bannister.

“I’m up here, Cissy.” He calls out.

You see Narcissa turn around and look up.

“Oh! Are you coming to lunch, Marcus?” She calls out.

He shakes his head. “No, thank you, darling. I will be… reading.”

“If you’re sure…” Narcissa makes an annoyed face. “Hello, Estella.”

You simply wave, and she turns on her heel to leave. You watch as she slumps her shoulders forward, pushing the door open roughly.

She’s in a foul mood. Maybe Lucius is just as awful to her as he is to you... Especially if it’s an arranged marriage. You can’t imagine him playing nicely with anyone. Was there anyone he was normal around?

When you turn back to the alcove, Marcus is sorting through the pile of books.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“Helping you.” He says, “If I were in your position, I wouldn’t want to be stuck here any longer than necessary.”

“Oh?” You cross your arms, arching an eyebrow at him.

“And…” He flips open a book to scan over the publishing credit, before gazing at you in deep thought. “I want you to come see me in Paris when you’re finished. So it’s in my best interest to help you finish as quickly as possible.”

He winks at you, and you feel faintly flustered. It’s not the hot, scorching blush you feel around Lucius, but there’s something there.

“To Paris?”

“Yes.” He nods, “If you wanted to, you could come work for me.”

“As an archivist?”

“Right.” He smiles. “My family has several collections. You sort through all of them, if you want... Though I must admit, I would much prefer to hire you as a model for my paintings.”

His eyes trail over you, appreciatively.

You shake your head, flushing “But… why? We’ve only just met.”

“Because we are the same,” He says, shrugging. “We both want what we can never have, and misery loves company.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for being the most patient, funny, kind, AMAZING readers. Your comments always make my day. 
> 
> Of all my current stories, I enjoy writing this one the most. That being said, it takes me longer to get each chapter of this story to where I want it to be. 
> 
> We're getting into second half of this story already! thank you all for your kind words and support <3 It's because of you that I keep writing.

**How did he…?** “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” You say carefully, trying to ignore the nervous flip in your stomach.

“No?” Marcus arches an eyebrow, setting the book down on the stack. “You’re not pining for Lucius, then?”

“I-I… no.” You shake your head furiously. “I’m not pining for...”

“No?” He takes a measured step in your direction. “Forgive me for my assumption.”

He reaches into his pocket, removing his wand. He gestures towards the books with a small flourish, and the book stacks begin to arrange themselves. He never breaks eye contact from you.

“Allow me to test a theory, then?” He says softly, wrapping a hand around your waist and tugging you closer. In your surprise, you don't pull back. His head tilts downwards, his hand lifts your chin. His intention is clear.

“A theory?” You whisper, frozen still.

“A theory.” He nods. “I wonder if I can still make your blood rush to your pretty little cheeks, make your toes curl... Make you lose yourself in pleasure. I would very much like to… as long as your heart doesn't belong to another. I mean, since you’re not in love with Lucius?”

He arches a brow, gaze heated as he stares down at you.

You inhale sharply, and he backs you against the table.

“Wait…” Your hand pushes his chest, and he stops.

"“Thought so." Marcus pulls back with a small smirk. " You give yourself away with the way you look at him.”

You flush, feeling taken aback. Had he just been playing you, calling your bluff? Or did he mean to kiss you just then?

And why didn’t you do it? Marcus is attractive. Even now, he holds you, tracing his thumb over your jaw, his touch doesn’t feel wrong. But you can’t help but think about how it was to have Lucius hold you like this, to have Lucius lean in to kiss you. How even in your intoxicated haze, his lips felt more right than anything. The way it felt like each kiss was an admission of a truth that neither of you dared to accept.

But you didn’t love Lucius, right? You barely tolerated one another. Maybe once in a while you stared a little too long when you found him reading alone at night, but that was only because he was unfairly blessed with a stupidly perfect face.

“I… I don’t love him. And he doesn’t even _like_ me.” You laugh, trying to play it off, even though it stings to admit how much disdain he feels for you.  
“But _you_ love someone, Marcus, so it isn’t right.”

“Isn’t it?” He says. “Are we spoiled then, for everyone else if we cannot have what we want? Estella, you may find as I have, that you cannot hold onto someone is not holding you back.”

You let your shoulders rise and fall into a half-hearted shrug. You didn’t want to think about that. You were here to work, not to fall in love. Certainly not with a man who was to be married in a month.

“Still, I would like to paint you, if you would let me. You are exquisite.” He grins.

You laugh, stepping out of his touch.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” You flush, turning away.

There are footsteps, and Marcus steps back a foot or two as you see Lucius enter the library. His eyes find yours in only seconds, and he stalks up the stairs.

Your heartbeat thuds, stomach twisting in anticipation. He is scowling, gaze fixated on yours. Why are you excited to see him? Your body betrays you, feeling your pulse thrum faster as his eyes rake over you.

“It is time for lunch. Won’t you please join us, Estella?” Lucius says, though his tone does not suggest you could answer anything other than ‘yes.’

You and Marcus share a glance, and he gives you an amused smirk.

Marcus straightens his back, standing tall. “Hello, Lucius.” He says, with a dark glint in his eyes. “We were actually planning to just stay in here for lunch, but thank you.”

Lucius nods in acknowledgement, still facing you. “Is that right?”

You glance at the floor, unable to meet Lucius’s eyes, but you nod. “Mhm.”

“Come again?” His silky voice replies, enunciating each word sharply.

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy.”

Lucius had been trying to keep his cool all morning, but it was about to snap.

It all started with another dream of you. In his dream he finished his run, walking into his room to find you lounging in his bed... in that lingerie you spoke so fondly about at dinner. That was one of his most troubling problems, lately. He knew _exactly_ what you looked like in a set of lingerie. Stockings… garters… And now you were in his dreams, teasing him. Your head tossed back against his satin sheets, lifting a finger and curling it towards you, beckoning him to you.

In his dream he had felt your soft skin, your lips. Heard the soft gasps you made as he pressed his hips to yours. Felt your legs wrap around his waist, urging him for more.

_“Please, Lucius.” You begged him, looking into his eyes. “I need you.”_

And he woke, painfully hard, his fingertips reaching over to grasp at empty sheets beside him. Just like he had three weeks ago after that night.

He ached for you. To be near you. To have you. Especially now with Marcus after you in his own home.

His self-given release was never enough. He was always left more worked up and irritable than before.

So he worked out for twice as long. Until he was ready to collapse. He showered, shaved, and took breakfast in his room to have some peace and quiet. Narcissa had been clinging to him for four days. Sitting in his office while he worked, joining him for _every meal._ If only Marcus had stayed away, you would have never seen each other. You and Narcissa...

He drank his tea bitterly, remembering the way your face fell as Narcissa called him her fiance, openly claiming him.

For the briefest moment, you looked disappointed. _And he couldn’t bear it._ He would try to make it up to you in any way he could. Because he couldn’t stand to see that look on your face. He could take your anger and your sly, teasing smirk, but not that sad, crestfallen look in your eyes.

It was time to admit to himself that even though you were a mudblood, the lowest of classes, he only wanted to spend his time with you. Not Narcissa. And absolutely not Marcus Gaunt.

He wanted to see your eyes light with anger, and watch him with open lust. He wanted to see you smile, like when you first saw the library, and the sunroom, and his private collection. Even see you blush as you were caught staring... But never that disappointed frown.

Just tonight, and tomorrow. That's all he had left to bear and then they would be gone. And he would have you to himself until the day he couldn’t anymore. Until he did what was expected of him. Until his duty was carried out and the Malfoy family’s honor was safely maintained.

You would probably never look at him the same way again after yesterday’s revelation. Now, he felt he owed you, for allowing you to feel that disappointment. He despised himself for even thinking of owing you, a mudblood, but it was out of his control.

What he felt now that he had successfully put you in your place… it was a far cry from the self-satisfaction he thought he would feel. Maybe it was better that he hadn’t succeeded in making you beg for him. He felt bad for even kissing you.

No. He felt bad for not having you completely. Because that look in your eyes would haunt him forever now.

And then you went and entertained Marcus Gaunt’s over-the-top flirtations, even when you knew he was the one who drugged the wine. What game were you playing? Turning those big, expressive eyes to a man who was practically the devil incarnate.

Did you not know how dangerous a man like Marcus Gaunt was? Not likely. You weren’t part of high society. You didn’t know what he was capable of.

How quick he had been to get you alone, flatter you, and charm you. His intentions couldn’t be good.

Or maybe Lucius was just...

No. Sure, Lucius couldn’t stand to see you with another man, but that wasn’t it.

Lucius would never let you have a moment alone with that man again. Not over his dead body.

When Narcissa showed up to lunch alone, Lucius knew exactly where he would find Marcus.

Lucius entered the library simmering with rage. And you. Your smile fell when you saw him, and that made him even angrier.

Marcus was smart enough to create space between you two. And you? You looked down at the floor, biting your full pouty lip. Lucius balled his hands into fists at his sides, before relaxing them again.

“It is time for lunch. Won’t you please join us, Estella?” Lucius said.

You and Marcus shared a glance, but Lucius’s eyes were trained on you, daring you to say no.

Marcus straightened his back, standing taller. Lucius wasn’t intimidated. He was taller, stronger, and smarter than this man. If it came to a duel, he could handle him easily.

“Hello, Lucius.” Marcus said, with a challenging glint in his eyes. “We were actually planning to just stay in here for lunch, but thank you.”

Lucius didn’t care to fully acknowledge him. He was watching your reaction closely. “Is that right?”

You turned your gaze to the floor then, nodding. “Mhm.”

“Come again?” He tried and failed to keep his voice calm.

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy.” You said more clearly.

Merlin, if you were his… Lucius wouldn’t hesitate to bend you over his lap. You stood up to him and ran your mouth all the time, but you were just going to let a man like Marcus Guant speak for you like that?

Did you want Marcus, then? Was that it?

It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t _allow_ it.

“Marcus.” Lucius replied smoothly. “I believe that I requested you leave my employee to work on her own, without interruption… on your first day here. Did I not?”

You look up at that, watching in horror between Lucius and Marcus. Lucius has never sounded so intense… so threatening.

“Did you?” Marcus sighs, tapping his lips. “I don’t recall.”

Lucius nods curtly, turning to you. “I believe I was clear about my expectations for you, Miss Hyde. Do you truly expect me to recommend you to _anyone_ after witnessing behavior like this?”

He arches a brow, and you don’t know what to say. You’re overwhelmed. For once in his presence, you’re speechless and without a comeback. Reeling from his harsh words.

“Now, now, Lucius.” Marcus says, stepping between you two, “That’s no way to speak to her. I came to find her, not the other way around. No need to punish her on my behalf.”

Lucius is still scowling in your direction. Like you disgust him.

Marcus is right. You just want what you can’t have. You feel a lump forming in your throat as you stand, pushing past the both of them.

“Just where are you going?” Lucius snaps when you don’t stop. His footsteps follow you down the staircase. “ _Miss Hyde._ ”

His harsh tone makes you flinch, and you blink back tears.

“I’m…” You shake your head, glancing up at him. “I-I’m going for a walk. Um, have a nice lunch, Mr. Malfoy”

You attempt to smile, even though it looks more like a grimace, swallowing the lump in your throat as you continue out the double doors.

You have a destination in mind, but your mind is racing as you make your way there. Through the hallways, out the door, and onto the terrace. You scan the horizon towards the hills in the distance.

And then you just walk. For how long, you don’t know. The sun is still high in the sky, but it’s breezy and a little chilly. You end up at the foot of the hills, staring a path into the trees. The same one from the painting, and it makes you feel a sense of calm.

For a while you stand there, admiring the lush green of the grass and the wildflowers. You feel refreshed, as if all your problems are far away. They’re just a few miles away, back at the tiny speck of the manor up the hill.

You had abandoned all your work and eventually you would have to go back and clean up, but until then, you finally felt like you could breathe. Three weeks stuck inside could do that to anyone, you remind yourself, make anyone a little crazy.

Maybe you would be better off in Paris working for Marcus. Staying in London would only mean facing the inevitable society column in the Daily Prophet about the esteemed Noble Houses of Black and Malfoy joining in one of the biggest weddings of the century, above even the muggle royal family. It made you sick just to think about it. Narcissa and Lucius, riding in a gilded carriage off into the sunset. You kick a rock, watching it skit toward a tree.

You notice something off about the tree, and you reach out to touch it. It’s a carving. A circle carved around a knot in the tree. You pull on the panel, opening it to find a small metal box. You feel a flutter of excitement, checking over your shoulder to see if anyone is around. Of course, no one is. So you pull out the tiny container, and open it.

It takes a few tries, the seal rusted a bit from weather and age. But it does open, to find a folded piece of paper and a smooth, colorful rock.

You unfold the paper, finding scratching handwriting, likely that of a child. It looks like a printed worksheet like you would have done in primary school before you went to Hogwarts.

**_Name: Lucius Malfoy._ **

**_My birthday is: 9/9/1953_ **

**_Age: 8_ **

You can’t help but grin, looking at his messy handwriting. Nothing like his elegant script today.

**_When I grow up I want to be: a businessman like my dad._ **

**_My favorite school subject is: magical history_ **

**_Favorite food: spaghetti._ **

**_I like: reading._ **

**_Draw a picture of anything you like:_ **

_**No.**   
_

You smile at his stubborness, flipping the paper over.

**_Dear future me,_ **

**_(or whoever finds this letter)_ **

****

**_I found this school paper on the ground in London. A muggle girl dropped it. Mum wouldn’t let me talk to her so I decided to keep it. We were in the park and there was a muggle class there burying a time ~~capsil.~~ capsule. Mum says I can’t make one because it's for muggles and we don’t like them. I also found this rock in the park. _ **

**_Do you like this rock? If so, you can have it._ **

****

**_Sincerely,_ **

**_Lucius A. Malfoy_ **

How adorable. You smile at the thought of Lucius sneaking the paper and taking it home. Lucius was probably lonely as a child. You can imagine him being very amused with himself, making a secret capsule for himself.

You turn the rock over in your hand, admiring the smooth surface, before slipping it back into the container. It felt like an intrusion to take it. It belonged here, where Lucius or his family could find it someday.

Still, you have an idea. Pulling a scrap of paper in your pocket out, you write against the flat carving from the tree.

**_Dear Lucius A. Malfoy,_ **

**_(or whoever finds this letter)_ **

****

**_I found your letter. It was quite amusing. And I do like the rock. An excellent choice, I must say. I also enjoy spaghetti, but I prefer pizza._ **

**_I see you didn’t want to draw anything, so I will draw something for you._ **

**_(see back side)_ **

****

**_Your faithful servant,_ **

**_Estella Hyde_ **

On the back you doodle a figure of Lucius with long hair and a frowny face in his hogwarts robes. All the while you chuckle to yourself, drawing a speech bubble and writing: ‘I don’t like to share.’ Then you drew a little book in his hand. You enchant it so that Lucius pulls the book away when a hand or pen comes near the paper and another speech bubble appears saying “Mine.'

You chuckle to yourself, folding the paper back up. Oh, he's going to rage when he sees it someday.

“What are you doing?”

You startle, clutching your chest as you find Lucius walking up the path towards you. You put the pen and paper behind your back as casually as you can.

“Nothing.” You smile, feigning innocence.

His eyes narrow. “What do you have there?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Behind your back.”

You smirk, shrugging. “I don’t have anything behind my back.”

“Really?” His voice is silky as his eyes roam over you, unhurried. “You missed lunch.”

You nod. “I wasn’t hungry.”

A lie. You were really hungry, now. Your stomach grumbles.

“No?” He arches a full brow.

You bite your lip, shaking your head. “Nope… I’m good.”

He nods. He looks behind you towards the tree with the hole. Then suddenly he’s in your personal space, grabbing your wrists from behind your back and pulling them up. His hips press you into the tree as his hands hold your wrists, knee between your legs.

“What do we have here, hmm?” He asks softly, almost playful.

The sudden physical closeness has you gasping for breath. But it only makes it worse, because he smells clean and musky, _so good._ Deftly, he snatches the papers from your hand, dropping your wrists. He scans the original letter over, tilting his head as he flipped it over. Then he reads yours.

When he reaches the picture, his eyes narrow, meeting yours. But you _swear_ his lips twitch upwards.

“My faithful servant, hmm?” His voice is silky, sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

You flush, hearing your words repeated back to you like that. Did he have any idea how that sounded? He smirks, and you’re sure of it now. Yes, he knows.

“I was only mocking you.” You say, crossing your arms.

He nods, still smirking.

“If you say so.”

You try to step around him, but he blocks your path.

“What are you doing, sneaking around with Marcus Gaunt?”

You look up at him, annoyed.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Answer the question.”

“No.”

“He’s not suitable company for you, Miss Hyde.”

“Merlin! Would you _stop_ that?” You huff, hot anger rising. “I get it, okay?”

“What?” He furrows his brow, tilting his head at you.

“I said, _I get it._ ” Your voice shakes with frustration.

“Get _what_?”

You flick your wand, sending the papers out of his hand and back into the metal tin. You take the tree knot and slam it hard back into the hole. Then you turn on your heel.

“You don’t have to remind me at every possible chance you get that I’m a mudblood and that I don’t belong here on your property with your friends.” Your breath seems to be rushing out of you, shoulders tense and shaking with anger. “You don’t need to tell me over and over again how little you think of me, okay? _I get it._ ”

He shakes his head. “You understand _nothing._ ”

“You are really unbelievable.” You throw your hands in the air. “I know how little you think of me. You have made it abundantly clear, okay? So just stop, please.”

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m saying that _he_ isn’t suitable for you, not the other way around.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?” You snap. “Why can’t you leave me alone and let me have one nice person to talk to while you parade around with your bloody fiance?”

“I can’t leave you alone.” He says, voice rasping.

You feel like the air is rushing out of you. Is he saying…?

He shakes his head. “I mean, I can’t… I can’t leave you alone with Marcus Gaunt, of all people.”

“Why?” You demand.

“Because Marcus Gaunt isn’t someone to be trusted! I thought you were smart enough to see so for yourself. _Clearly,_ I was wrong.”

“Marcus has been nothing but kind to me while you have been _cruel_ and _insufferable._ ” You retort. “He’s even offered me employment to work in his family’s archives when I’m finished here. Clearly you _were_ wrong, when you said no one would hire me over a pureblood.”

“You will do _no such thing_.” He says, seeming self-assured.

“Yeah? And how could you possibly stop me?”

His eyes narrow and you smirk.

“You can forget about that letter of recommendation, Miss Hyde.”

He starts walking towards the Manor. You’re on his heels, furious.

“Fine! I’m starting to suspect you would have never written it anyway!”

He stops, facing you again.

“But tell me why.” You demand. “Just give me an honest answer. Please.”

“Because you don’t listen.”

You shake your head. “I don’t owe you total obedience in matters outside of work. You do know that, don’t you? Give me a real reason.”

“You are the one that’s insufferable, walking around dressed like…” He gestures vaguely to your outfit.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“They’re…” His eyes scan over you. “Far too formal for archive work.”

You squint up at him in bewilderment. “Too formal? What would you have me wear instead, then?”

He gulps, throat bobbing as his gaze bores into yours. You flush, at the double meaning of your words.

“And you say such... _inappropriate_ things.” His smirk is teasing, but his words sound so deep and smooth.

When did he get so close to you?

“I-” Your heart thuds as you feel him close in on you.

“Things that have me imagining _exactly_ what I’d like to see you wearing.”

You flush, cheeks burning hot at his words. Your core thrums with a wave of desire as his pale blue eyes meet yours head on, no shame from his end.

“You have a fiance.” You offer weakly. “You’re going to be married.”

He nods. “In a month.”

You squint. “What does it matter, _when_. We can’t…”

He shakes his head. “We can, actually. It’s only the female party of the arranged marriage that has to swear faithfulness in the contract.”

“Oh.”

Your previous argument dies on your tongue. Was he insinuating…?

“Oh?” His crooked smile is teasing, taunting.

“Doesn’t that feel wrong to you?” You say, “Shouldn’t you, I don’t know…. want to be with her, then?”

“I should” He nods, closing more of the distance between you with a step. “And yet… I find myself unable to give her the attention she desperately desires. Not when you are anywhere near. Not when I know that _when I’m not around_ , Marcus seeks you out alone. You’re all I can think about, day and night and I…”

His knuckles brush against your cheek, and you’re completely captivated. Was he admitting feelings for you? Your heart pounds in anticipation, hanging on every word.

“I need to get you out of my system.” He says, as if he was assuring himself rather than you. “I just need..”

He shakes his head, then abruptly leans down and presses his lips to yours. All coherent thought melts away as his lips claim yours, searing you with warmth. You should protest and you should push him away, but somehow your hands end up wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. Your fingers entangle in his hair, deepening the kiss, and he groans. He leans down and grips your thighs, picking you up and practically slamming you into a nearby tree.

You gasp as your back hits the trunk and his tongue finds yours. He tastes so good. Like mint and just… him. You hum in content against his lips as they devour yours. He sucks your lower lip between his teeth and you wrap your legs tighter around his hips. He grunts, kissing down your jaw to a sensitive spot on your neck. You let out a soft whimper, gripping his arms for support. His arms are so firm, so muscular and imposingly large. He nibbles on your neck.

“Say you need me.” He says, pleading you with kisses up your neck. “I just want to hear you say it.”

You shake your head.

“Say it.” He nods, stealing another long kiss from your lips. “Tell me.”

Merlin, it’s hard to think straight when he does that. You melt into another series of kisses, held in his strong arms. Pressed tightly to his hard body, you almost relent.

“You say it.” You retort.

His forehead presses to yours. “I...”

You breathe hard, hands still tangled in his silky locks at the nape of his neck, legs locked around his waist.

“Yes?” You retort, smirking. “Go on…”

“No.” He shakes his head, smiling despite himself. “Damn you.”

Then he’s kissing you again, but he sets you back down on your feet.

“You’re cold.” He says against your lips. “We should return.”

You nod, not quite feeling like stopping. But he was right, you were cold. You hadn’t brought a sweater and your arms were covered in goosebumps. His warm hands run up and down your arms.

“Hold on to me.” He says softly.

You hesitate, then wrap your arms around his firm torso. He’s so warm.

“Ready?”

You nod.

With a crack, you disapparate together, reappearing in your bedroom.

His eyes seem fixated over your shoulder, eyeing your bed, and he swallows hard. He closes his eyes, shaking his head.

“Come to dinner tonight.” He tells you, voice deep and silky. “I need to take care of something.”

“Are you running away from me?” You smirk, trailing a finger down his chest. “Scared you’ll say it first?”

“No.” He grunts, kissing you again, hard. But he pulls away, stopping it from turning into anything else.

“I have work to do.” He breathes, cupping his hands around your cheeks. “I don’t want to be distracted by wondering where you are… who you’re with. Stay here, just for a few hours.”

You nod, dazed by the tingling you still felt in your lips. “Okay.”

“Dinner is at seven, don’t be late.” He demands, eyeing you slowly one last time. “And… wear something less distracting.” He adds, before disappearing with a crack.

You huff in indignation at his bossy tone, though he isn’t there to see it... You wander over to your wardrobe, finding another dress. _Less distracting_ , did he say?

_Why… it would be a shame if you misheard him, wouldn’t it?_


	16. Chapter 16

**In your room, you pass the time until dinner with a relaxing bath.** Next, you write a progress update to your boss and try to catch up on some reading. Though you’d pored through countless books for your assignment, this is the first time in a long time you could sit down with a book for your own enjoyment and now... you can’t focus.

Because Lucius had found you at the edge of the woods and he’d _kissed_ you. Which should be a relief, but it isn’t. Because he’s engaged, and he’s still a royal prick.

Eyeing your wardrobe, you decide that you will _not_ be following Lucius’s request to dress in a way that would be less distracting to him. It wasn’t as if he’d made a particularly convincing argument. What was going to happen if you didn’t do as he said?

Ha! In fact, you rather liked the idea of how he would react when he saw you in a proper fancy dinner dress. And not a modest one, either. You take too far too much joy in disobeying Lucius to dress modest for dinner tonight. He might implode.

There’s one dress in particular that seems to be the clear choice. It’s generally tame in the front, but it has a deep slit up one of the thighs and the back dips scandalously low. A gift from one of your wealthy previous employers. They had purchased an extra on accident and couldn’t be bothered mailing it back to return.

It was fancier than anything you’d ever owned. It was no ball gown, only an elegant dinner dress. So it will only be distracting from _certain angles_ , of course. But those angles… they’re powerful enough to make a man beg.

With a tap of your wand and a bit of a sleek hair potion, you tame your hair into romantic, curly waves. A touch of lipstick and you’re good to go.

In the mirror, you turn and twist, admiring your choice. It’s perfect for making the haughty bastard suffer. You wanted him, but you also don’t want to be his dirty little secret. He admitted he couldn’t stay away from you, but what did exactly that mean?

Did he just want a secret fling, some sort of distraction before he marries Narcissa?

Because that won’t work for you. He would get what he wants while you get nothing but a headache and a heartache in return. It isn’t enough to be desired, you want to be _valued_ by him.

He had plagued your thoughts since you were a teenager. If he used you, it would hurt. You would just be a distraction for him until he and Narcissa lived happily ever after in their endless wealth. Well, if that’s what he wants, Narcissa… he can forget about having you as well.

You have to have a sense of self-preservation. He’s your employer, and he’s engaged. No matter how attractive he is, you have to resist.

Besides, you did promise him that he would be the one to beg. He would be the one to break first.

You stop by the library to put your things away, but find them already neatly organized and tucked away into the ledger room. The house-elves, perhaps? You would have to thank them after dinner. It’s a minute or two past seven when you make your way to dinner.

As you make your way to the dining room, you catch a few of the portraits eyeing you with disdain.

“Mudblood.” Spits one of the painted women with a tall powdered wig. She sneers at you from a gilded frame in the grand hallway. “A disgrace to this noble home.”

She flaps her fan at you arrogantly, as if to shoo you away.

You try to ignore the painting, head held high. You happen to know the opposite charm to disenchant a painting, and could swiftly shut it up, _permanently_ , but it’s not your home.

‘Mudblood’ is so overused that it almost means nothing to you anymore. Almost. There are only a few people who blindly hate you simply for your blood status, including Bellatrix Black and Gregory Goyle. Oh, and Lucius.

Even if he supposedly “couldn’t stay away” from you, that’s what he’s always seen you as.  
Someone unworthy of him. You’re going to have to confront him about that… at some point.

As you turn the corner, you’re greeted with the sight of Marcus and Narcissa standing just in front of the dining room. Lucius isn’t around, as far as you can see. Narcissa is pouting, glaring up at Marcus. He leans forward with a smirk. You arch an eyebrow, but it’s clear they don’t see you yet.

“You shouldn’t say such things.” Narcissa says, laughing. You don’t catch what Marcus says in response.

Narcissa sees you first and her face falls a bit. “Oh. Hello Estella, will you be joining us?” She plasters on a wide grin that doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

“Hello.” You nod. “Yes, I will.” You answer, though that much should be obvious.

Marcus straightens up and turns to face you. His eyes go dark as he eyes you with interest.  
“Estella… you look…” He shakes his head, blinking as he searches for the right word. “Stunning.”

“Thank you, Marcus.” You say with a smile. “ You look very handsome.”

“Oh, this old thing?” Marcus chuckles, gesturing to his impeccably tailored suit. “You flatter me.”

“Psh. Don’t let your head get too big, darling.” Narcissa says, rolling her eyes. She bats her lashes at him. “It might explode.”

“Never, darling.” He smirks. “It’s just big enough, you’ll find.”

You roll your eyes. Marcus is truly one of a kind, it seems. None of your former Slytherin classmates that you’d ever seen were as relaxed and fun in private as he is. They were always rigid, uptight, and unpleasant. Most of them were still cruel, and were still competitive with the former Gryffindors--even after graduation. The closest you’d seen to humor on a Slytherin was pure snark. They were the kind of people you always had to be ‘on’ around.

Marcus is clearly of the same world, but is much more at ease. Why? It was anyone’s guess at this point. Perhaps it was a French nobility thing. Perhaps the English nobility were the rigid ones.

Speaking of rigid, Lucius is still nowhere to be seen a good ten minutes later as the three of you chat idly about your days. Not that you’re counting the time. It’s just that Lucius is never tardy for anything. Apparently Marcus and Narcissa spent the afternoon playing some game on the lawn that sounded like a magical version of cricket. You admit to never having played before, and they invite you to play with them before they leave tomorrow afternoon.

After another five minutes and Dobby appears.

“Master Lucius offers his apologies for the wait,” Dobby says with a bow. “He has just returned from a meeting, and wishes for you to begin without him. He will be along shortly.”

Meeting? For what reason would Lucius be taking a meeting on a Saturday night? Was he really that much of a workaholic? He probably could have done whatever it was on another day, rather than keep his guests waiting.

Perhaps it was urgent. Or he was just a control freak. A stupid, handsome, uptight control freak. Yep, that was more likely.

That wouldn’t surprise you _that much_. Of course he was. Uptight, focused, disciplined. Always. He would never change. A control freak through and through.

You follow Marcus and Narcissa into the dining room and Marcus pulls out your chair. You don’t miss the way Narcissa scowls, watching the interaction.

“Really, I am quite a fan of this dress of yours.” Marcus says silkily into your ear, before walking around and helping Narcissa into her seat like a perfect gentlemen

Dobby appears with a cart containing a bucket of ice and some champagne.

“Champagne!” Narcissa clasps her hands excitedly. “I wonder what we’re celebrating.”

As if on cue, the double doors open and Lucius strides in, dressed in a sharp charcoal three-piece suit that makes his eyes seem even lighter and impossibly more blue. Your stomach flips, heart fluttering as you see him. He really is a powerful person to behold.

His gaze travels across the room, landing on you. Those eyes… it’s like everything else melts away. The corners of his lips turn up, and he walks around the table to sit next to you. Why do you feel so flustered?

“Did your meeting go well, Darling?” Narcissa asks, reaching to collect a stem of grapes from the tray of fruit on the table.

Your heart sinks as your mind gets brought back down from whatever daydream you were having. Remember? He’s not yours. Even if he kissed you.

“Perfectly.” He nods, smiling charmingly at her. “It was a great success.”

He’s smiling in a way that doesn’t seem stiff at all. He looks pleased about something.  
It’s suspicious.

“Who were you meeting with on a Saturday evening, Lucius?” Marcus asks, “Are we celebrating another one of your corporate coups? A new business venture perhaps?”

“A new business has come under my ownership.” Lucius says, smiling with a dark glint of mischief in his eyes. “I was in negotiation for over two hours, please excuse my tardiness.”

“Oh, nevermind, it was hardly a wait.” Narcissa claps her hands together. “How wonderful, darling. Good thing I came to visit, it seems I’m your good luck charm.”

Lucius smiles at her. “It seems so.”

Her gaze slides to yours and you smile politely, but it feels frozen on your face. Of course, she probably caught you ogling him just now, and was reminding you of your place. A servant, not anyone of importance to Lucius. She was his fiance.

There it is again, that ugly pit of jealousy sinking in your stomach. You reach a hand out towards the fruit, but Marcus takes the grapes you were reaching for.

Marcus catches your eye, smirking. “Oh! Sorry, darling. Would you like to share?”

You squint at him and his exaggerated tone, tilting your head. He holds up his small plate,

“Sure.” You nod, but he holds it so that you have to lean forward to reach it. You grab a few, then sit back in your chair, popping one into your mouth. You hear a throat clear next to you, and your gaze slides slightly to your right.

“Are you alright, darling?” Narcissa asks.

“Fine, thank you.” Is Lucius’s stiff reply. You refuse to look at him until the sinking feeling goes away. “Should we move on to dinner, then?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Marcus stands, “I’ll pour the champagne. Estella, help me with the glasses, will you?”

He gathers the glass in front of Narcissa and his own, and gestures for you to do the same.  
You give him wide, questioning eyes.

“Sure...” You nod, gathering yours and Lucius’s glasses, and standing to meet him at the cart with the champagne.

Under the cover of Narcissa and Lucius discussing something about the dining room, you lean closer to whisper to Marcus.

“What are you doing?”

He smiles wide, leaning closer. “What do you mean?”

You squint, eyeing him warily. “It just... seems like you’re up to something.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” He shrugs. “All I wanted was a moment alone to tell you that you truly look divine in this dress.” He gestures to your dress, looking you up and down with interest. “Is this for me… or for him?” He whispers.

You meet his gaze with a sharp look. “I don’t know what you mean, Marcus.” You sneak a glance over your shoulder to find Lucius watching you both with narrowed eyes. You whip your head back around. “It’s not for anyone.”

“Well I, for one, can’t take my eyes off of you, so if it’s for me, it’s working. In fact… I’d welcome the opportunity to tell you all the _many_ ways I admire it later on in my room tonight...” Marcus says quietly in your ear. “But of course I know it’s not for me. Not yet...Maybe in Paris?”

You smirk, shaking your head. “Cheeky.” You playfully smack his shoulder, and he responds with a pleased grin.

“I’m just being straightforward. When I see something I like, I go for it. And why not?” Marcus’s eyes run down your figure. “I talk a lot, but I am very much interested in getting to know you. Besides, think of how annoyed Lucius would be to see us together.”

“Why would I want to annoy him?” You always do, but you're curious why Marcus does.

Lucius didn’t seem the type to enjoy that kind of teasing, even from his mates.

“Ah, still in denial, I see.” Marcus shrugs. “Suit yourself, then. My offer stands, and my room is in the West Wing, if you’re free later. We could, you know, _talk._ ” He gives you a devilish smile, and you roll your eyes. He pours each glass a perfect two-thirds full, and hands two to you. “Offer stands.”

How presumptuous! Was it the dress? You frown at him, but he passes by you with a megawatt smile, heading back to the table. He passes Narcissa a glass, and you pass one to Lucius before taking a seat. It’s inevitable now. You have to look at him.

His eyes are cold, lips pressed into a hard line. His face softens a fraction when he looks at you.

“Thank you, Miss Hyde.”

You nod, sliding into your chair as gracefully as you can. The slit up your right thigh falls open as you sit, and Lucius doesn’t miss it. His eyes are glued to the expanse of bare skin for a long moment before he tears his gaze away, leaving you feeling warm all over.

“A toast…” Marcus announces, grinning “To our wonderful host and his successful business acquisition, and also to my dearest friends and their upcoming wedding. As this may be our last night together before you are wed, I want to offer you my well wishes personally. May you two share every happiness.” Then his eyes slide to yours, and he tilts his head as if gauging your reaction, “To… _new ventures._ ”

Narcissa and Lucius chime in the same, and you simply raise your glass. The words die on your tongue as you imagine Narcissa dressed in white, joining Lucius at the end of some elaborate aisle. You take a long sip of your champagne, and then another. Vaguely you notice it tastes expensive. Dry and very bubbly.

Marcus’s sharp gaze hones in on yours, and you try to keep your expression composed. What kind of reaction is he hoping for? Did he think you would yell, flip the table over at the mention of their wedding? Or was he looking for something else?

Your disappointment? You’re sure it’s written all over your face.


	17. Chapter 17

**You’re beginning to regret coming to dinner.** So far all it’s done is encouraged Marcus to be even more forthcoming, and made it glaringly obvious that you’re the odd one out. Everyone else here is perfectly happy that Lucius and Narcissa are getting married.

It makes you lose your appetite a bit. You abandon the rest of your grapes on the plate.

“So, _Estella,_ ” Narcissa looks straight at you. “What do you think of the new law that MACUSA passed?”

“Me?” You blink, staring down at the plate that appears before you as you recall the morning’s Prophet. Admittedly you had barely scanned through it before heading to your meeting with Lucius. “The one regarding the American muggles? I don’t remember the details, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, that’s the one.” Narcissa nods. “Their superior court ruled it lawful for American magical folk to marry muggles and even some _creatures_ like werewolves, vampires, and veelas.” Narcissa is clearly scandalized, if the way she scrunches her nose is any indication. She looks truly disgusted, sneering at you. Then her angelic smile reappears. “I must know what you have to say on the matter… you being a _muggleborn_ and all.”

“Hmm.” You hum, gathering a composed response.

This was huge. The legality of intermarriage in America would mean there would be a lot more mixed-blood children, meaning for more wizards and also making purebloods even rarer. It’s a bold move by their government, and a huge landmark win for the average magical person. Freedom to marry whoever they love. Of course with some regulation so that the secret of our kind isn’t exposed to everyone.

You're in your thoughts, wondering how this will all carry out when Narcissa scoffs at something Marcus says.

“Isn’t it completely disgusting?” She seems to be waiting for you to agree and you’re admittedly taken aback. “This is what happens when you don’t keep blood pure. If there is no order, then... _anyone_ could breed for magical children, including criminals and terrible people.”

Again, you blink. This conversation is awfully specific and clearly ignorant. What rich purebloods told themselves to justify their discrimination. You shrug, using the motion to try and relax your shoulders. You take a breath before you speak and then you meet Narcissa’s gaze head on.

“Well… consider this: Some people are born with magic with no magical parents, like me.” You say carefully. “So I don’t imagine that it’s much different-- the chances of a magical and non-magical person falling in love and a random magical child being born into an unsuspecting family.. The conditions in which they learn about our world are only fractionally different, and equally inevitable. I mean, you don’t get to choose who you love, er… I mean. Except for in some cases, of course.”

You wince. That sounded a bit like a jab at her upcoming arranged marriage. That wasn’t what you intended, though it was an improvement from the choice words that first went through your head.

Or maybe it was on purpose after all, your subconscious attacking Lucius's fiance out of spite. Normally you believed that women should lift other women, not tear them down. Yet, she had essentially discriminated against your blood status, so she deserved it.

“Right.” Narcissa responds dryly- which is unexpected. She’s always the calm, collected, graceful princess. Oops. Did you strike a nerve?

You’re not sorry. She glances to Marcus and Lucius, taking a moment before she continues..

“Well, of course you’re an exception to the rule, Estella.” She says, as if talking to a child in primary school. “But the other mudbloods and muggleborns… If they were the majority, then they would want to use magic to cheat other muggles or take what other, more established families have worked hard for. There would be no order. And besides, if you were born with magic, you must have a distant ancestor with magical blood, hmm? A great-grandparent perhaps? People aren't _actually_ born without any prior familial magic. We all know that. Your bloodline just got muddied through generations”

Biting back your revulsion at her clearly practised and insulting speech against muggleborns, you shake your head. You choose to only respond to that which isn’t completely off base, degrading, and discriminatory.

You down the rest of your champagne, searching for something in all that to respond to. It’s all so idiotic. _Cheat muggles?_ Completely ridiculous.

Purebloods are the ones who cheat muggles by buying up tons of property and renting it to muggle-run businesses and apartment dwellers. Muggles are disgusting to them, but not enough to profit off of them.

Lucius and Marcus are awfully silent, simply watching the interaction between you and Narcissa… but no matter. You’ve never been one to hold back your opinion or to stay silent in the face of discrimination.

“I have no magical ancestors” You say with a smile, “None of my brothers or sisters have magical abilities, and neither did anyone in the last ten or more generations, as far as official record states. I checked for myself at the ministry. Though, as we know, studies suggest we all come from a common origin, see, homo sapiens as it were… Well, nevermind. Perhaps you didn’t have the opportunity to study Magical Anthropology at university? I think you might enjoy it, I found it utterly fascinating. How such misconceptions arise due to a lack of education.”

You finish with a big fake smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. Because you’re too angry.

“Hmmph.” Narcissa nods, but doesn’t look convinced.

“So you were special enough to be the first magical born in your bloodline?” Marcus asks, “That’s fascinating.” The amused glint in his eyes communicates that he’s enjoying the heated discussion more than anyone.

Lucius is conveniently quiet.

“I didn’t mean for it to sound like bragging. I do consider myself lucky in some regards...”

You trail off, realizing as you glance around at the others that you’re outnumbered here and this is an argument you won’t win. They had been indoctrinated to believe what they do about blood purity since they were children. There is only one way out of this that doesn’t make you look entirely foolish.

“To answer your question, Narcissa, before I ramble on… What I think about the law is this: it’s a great success for those who love people they were previously not allowed to marry.” You smile, shrugging. “Although, I generally prefer not to discuss politics at dinner. However important the topic, I find that most people have already formed their steadfast opinions, and if both parties are unyielding, it only ends in an unpleasant disagreement. Shall we eat?”

You smile at the end, this time more genuine. It’s an elementary rule not to discuss religion or politics at dinner. Your own mother taught you that. Surely those trained in the finest dining etiquette know as much as well.

It was a trap, that topic. Narcissa knew you would be passionate about the law, and she expected you to rant and ramble without aim. Now you’ve turned the tables, drawing to light the fact that she wanted to discuss such a controversial topic at dinner. She looks displeased, and you feel triumphant.

Marcus is smiling wickedly as he takes a sip of his champagne. Lucius only clears his throat, and offers you some wine. You decline, opting for water instead. As you take a long sip and the others dig into their meal, you exhale in relief.

Then, without warning, you feel a warm hand slide over your thigh. The fingertips caress the bare skin where fabric parts. You inhale sharply.

You glance over at Lucius with wide eyes, but he isn’t looking. The thumb of Lucius’s hand trails a lazy circle on your thigh as he retorts some witty remark to Marcus. You don’t even know what they’re talking about anymore. Quidditch team drafts? A few familiar names are thrown out, but you’re just so aware of the points of contact between his skin and yours that you can’t focus on anything else. You feel blossoming warmth and comfort from his gesture, and also a thrill, knowing he’s doing this with his fiance across from him.

There is no other way this can be misconstrued, it’s intentional. And it feels... nice. Really nice. If he touched you like this anywhere else you’d completely melt. Like a massage! _Agh!_ Like a shoulder massage. Not like...

Oh, who are you kidding? You flush, shaking your head to clear such dirty thoughts. It doesn’t quite work. Not with him touching you, and not after he kissed you the way he did.

You sneak a glance at him, but he’s looking forward, talking to Narcissa. He glances at you as he pauses, and when he resumes speaking he’s not even holding back a triumphant smirk.

Bastard.

This is bad. He knows _exactly_ what he’s doing. He knows just where to trail his thumb along your skin to drive you crazy.

The rest of dinner passes without incident. Eventually Lucius takes back his sneaky hand to eat, but the trail of heated desire he leaves lingers for the rest of the evening. Now it’s late and everyone is off to bed.

As you enter the main hallway, you glance over your shoulder at them one more time. Lucius is standing there, speaking with the others, but his eyes are trained on you.

You swallow, raising a hand to wave goodbye. He doesn’t return the gesture. Of course he doesn’t. His gaze leaves yours to look at Narcissa.

What did you expect, an open display of friendliness? Still, you can’t help the sinking feeling.

You reach your room, locking the door behind you. You swiftly undress. This dress clearly didn’t do its job of distracting anyway. You pull on your black satin nightgown and throw on the sheer robe. In your attached bathroom, you take your sweet time washing your face and putting your hair into a bun.

When you walk back into the bedroom, your heart leaps in your chest and you almost walk face first into the wardrobe. Because Lucius is standing there.

You clutch your chest, exhaling. “How did you-?”

He shushes you by stalking over to you and clamping a hand over your mouth. You begin to protest, but realize as his eyes dart around that he’s listening for something. Your pulse quickens as you feel his body press into yours from behind, or maybe it’s from the sudden thrill of not knowing what was going on. He’s holding you in place. You shiver. It’s probably him, then.

There’s a knocking at your door and you jump. Lucius is still, listening to the knocks.

“It’s only Dobby.” Lucius says in your ear, sending warm shivers down your neck.

“Miss Hyde?” Comes the elf’s voice from the other side of the door.

“Go ahead.” He says, making no move to leave from where he stands behind you. “He’ll be alone.”

You open the door tentatively, finding Dobby standing alone in the hallway.

“Yes, Dobby?” You ask, drawing your brows together.

The elf’s eyes bulge comically wide as they take in the appearance of you and Lucius standing in such close proximity.

“Er… hello miss. Sorry to bother you. Master Lucius wishes… er,” His eyes dart back up to Lucius, “To inform you that the perimeter of the estate has been breached. Miss is to, er… Master?”

Lucius smiles with an ease that is a bit eerie. “Go on, Dobby. Just pretend I’m not here. You’re doing admirably”

You gape at his charming smile. The elf is practically shaking in fear and Lucius is enjoying himself. Bastard!

“Er,” Dobby continues shakily, “Miss is to stay in her quarters for the rest of the evening, and not to leave to walk the grounds until any threat has been ruled out.”

He exhales in relief when he’s finished.

You nod dumbly. “Thank you, Dobby.”

The elf nods nervously before abruptly snapping and disappearing.

“It appears I arrived before he did.” Lucius sighs, shutting the door.

You open and close your mouth. “There’s an intruder?” You fiddle with the sleeve of your robe nervously. You grab your wand from the bed, pacing back and forth. “What do we do?”

“Nothing.” Lucius says calmly. There’s an amused glint in his eyes, though you’re not sure why.

“Nothing?” You repeat, dubiously. _Is he mad?_

“Nothing.” He answers, patiently. “My guards are investigating it. I must, however, insist that you come with me. I’d feel better if you were someplace safer than here in the East Wing while I go and see for myself what’s going on.”

You nod, feeling an icy chill of fear. Someone or something broke through the wards at the edge of the property and they didn’t know what was going on.

“Okay… but where?”

His eyes study yours for a long moment, before he turns away. “Follow me.”

You’re about to open your mouth to ask if you’re meant to go with him right now in your nightgown, and what if the other guests saw you together… but he merely walks over to your wardrobe and knocks on it four times. In utter disbelief, you watch as the whole thing slides to the left, revealing a hidden passageway. Reaching inside the passage, he pulls out an everburning candlestick and offers you his hand.

You frown, staring at his open palm. Lucius and _his hands_. Maybe you were safer in your room…

He tilts his head, regarding you with curiosity and possibly... amusement? His face is still and icy as ever, though. “Are you waiting for a written invitation, Miss Hyde?”

You glare up at him and sigh, looking toward the dark passage for a long moment. You want to tell him off for being so calm and snarky in the face of an intruder sneaking onto his property, but you’re intrigued by this hidden passageway. The apprehension of an intruder potentially finding you in your room alone is greater than that of following this impossible man into the dark, narrow corridor.

“Fine.” You snap as you take his hand.

“Good.” He says smoothly, as he leads you into the dark passageway.


	18. Chapter 18

**“Where are we going?” You whisper, stepping closer to Lucius as the doorway closes itself behind you.** As the stone door moves shut and clicks into place, the last shred of external light leaking into the tunnel is snuffed out, leaving only the light of the candle in Lucius’s hand.

“You’ll see soon enough.” He says simply, lacing his fingers into yours.

You huff, and you swear you can hear his smirk. You’re refusing to look at him. Not in this dark passage where it’s just you two. Because that would be dangerous.

Your footsteps echo in the dark corridor, and all you can see is Lucius’s broad figure in the candlelight. The flickering light illuminates only a few feet in each direction, and you wonder how Lucius knows where he’s going.

A noise taps and flutters along the wall and you shiver, stepping closer to Lucius.

“Don’t worry.” He chuckles, squeezing your hand. “It’s probably just a doxy.”

“A doxy?!” You whisper-yell, abandoning his hand to clutch tightly onto his entire arm.

His thickly muscled, warm, _strong_ arm. The same impressive biceps that had you lifted and pinned against a tree only hours ago. Pressing yourself into the side of his broad form is almost enough to calm you and make you feel safe, but then you hear a loud buzzing by your ear and you squeal.

He pauses, arching a full eyebrow down at you. He doesn’t move to separate you from his arm, though.

“Alright Miss Hyde?” His deep voice purrs.

“Mhm.” Is your squeaky response.

You really hate bugs, and Doxies especially. They’re shiny and furry and huge with wings. Nasty attitudes, too. You would have to hit them hard with a good knockback jinx if you wanted them to leave you alone. Which you do, because they bite hard.

You keep walking, glued to his side in case anything jumps out at you. You squint trying to see in front of you, but you can’t see more than the four feet in front of you that the candelabra illuminates.

“Why aren’t you just using your wand to light the corridor?” You snap in frightened irritation when the buzzing starts again a minute later. The passageway has shifted into an incline.

“Because ‘ _lumos_ ’ doesn’t work down here.” He responds, and you can practically hear his smirk. “This passage is enchanted to remain dark when the protective wards are triggered.”

There’s another buzz by your ear and you yelp, throwing your whole body at him, burying your face into Lucius’s chest. You clutch onto him like a life raft. The buzzing fades, and you sigh, looking up to find Lucius’s shoulders shaking with silent laughter. His face, under the candlelight is luminous with his laughter. His smile seems so real, so unguarded. And it’s a beautiful thing to behold.

And then the buzzing starts again. You whirl around, pulling your wand out and pointing it directly at the source.

But there’s nothing there. A flash of something flies by and you gasp, pulling out your wand.

“ _Flipendo!_ ” You shout.

And then there’s a large thud, and the light flickers away, rolling down the incline

You hear a deep groan, somewhere on the ground.

_Oh no._

“Lucius..?” You ask hesitantly.

There’s an audible sigh, and a clamor of metal against stone. And then footsteps.

You cross your hands over your chest, rubbing your arms and biting your lip nervously. You can’t see a thing.

Then there’s a flash of light and the passageway comes to life again. Illuminated is the face of an angry Lucius, whose cheek is bruised a bit. You gasp, putting a hand over your mouth. You knocked him over with your spell.

“You’re a hazard, you know that?!” He snaps. “It was an illusion charm, I was just… I was only teasing you. There are no _pests_ in this corridor. This house is quite well maintained, if you haven’t noticed.”

He ficks his wand, and a wisp buzzes past you. The same buzzing as before. He tucks his wand away and does it again, maintaining eye contact with you. Just a simple nonverbal charm. You don’t want to acknowledge what it does to you to watch him use nonverbal, wandless magic. All while looking at you like that.

“You were ...?” You trail off in disbelief. _A simple wisp charm. That’s all it had been…. Not a Doxy._ “You…tricked me?”

He smirks, nodding.

“Bastard!” You gasp. You smack his chest. He steps backward, chuckling.

You give a heavy sigh, and you start walking forward again. There’s a low rumble of laughter, and you turn back to glare at him. Lucius’s eyes are lit with mischief and the corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly.

“What?!” You demand. “I bet you’re so pleased with yourself.”

He shakes his head, trying to keep a straight face as you both begin to walk again, but his smile stretches wide a moment later.

“It's just… You should have seen your face.” He says, grinning.

“It’s not funny!” You tell him, “I _hate_ doxies. They're like giant magical flying cockroaches. Awful beasts… and they bite too!” You shudder. “I really, _really_ hate them. I can’t believe you would… Ugh!”

You go to smack his arm as he bursts into laughter, but he snatches your wrist easily.

“Really?” He says, planting a soft kiss on your inner wrist. “You don’t like them? I couldn’t tell.” He finishes with a devious smirk.

Your breath hitches as his lips brush along your pulsepoint. You should shove him, yell at him, something other than staring up at him like a docile little pygmy puff.

And yet… you can’t stay mad, because you got him pretty good too. His cheek is bruised, probably from sharp contact with the wall or the candlestick. You think of the many times you wished you could slap him across his pretty face. It’s a great deal less satisfying than you imagined it would be, to see him hurt.

“Let me see your face.” You say, trying to sound authoritative. As he releases your wrist, you tentatively touch his face, looking for further injury. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He eyes you warily for a moment, “We need to keep moving. If you must, you can look at it when we get to my room.”

“Your room? But-” You gasp as he turns on his heel and walks up to you, backing you up against a wall.

His warm body presses into yours. His head leans down. In the candlelight, his eyes look darker. Your eyes follow the open expanse of skin at the top of his white button up shirt, which had been undone just a bit at the top. His chest, only barely visible, his strong neck, his chiseled jaw. He smells so good, so warm and spicy...

“Yes, Miss Hyde.” He says. His deep voice is enchanting. “My room. The safest place in the Manor. Must you argue with me on everything, even your own safety?”

“I…” You frown, staring up at his lips. His full, sensual lips. Faintly, you remember that you wanted to talk to him. Was it really that urgent, though? A sound echoes through the corridor as his breath fans over your lips.

“We should keep moving.” You blurt out before he can do anything else.

He gives a great sigh, standing up straight again. You roll your shoulders back and stand tall, waiting for him to continue forward. You watch tentatively as his jaw grinds, and he visibly tries to compose himself.

It seems you affect him just as much as he affects you.

“Come on, then.” You say, confidence renewed. You walk forward without him , but his hand finds yours before you can go too far and he subtly pulls you in the right direction.

He walks on with long strides, and you have to practically jog to keep up in your fluffy black slippers. As you take a sharp turn, you swear you can hear voices on the other side of the wall.

Lucius doesn’t stop though, bounding down the corridor through several twists and turns. He comes to a stop, and stares at a dark stone wall with a marking of two snakes, before glancing down at you.

He smirks, arching a brow. “My hand, Miss Hyde? I need it to open the door.”

You stare up at him, unamused. Then you drop his hand abruptly, crossing your arms over your chest. Luckily it’s dark. Bastard. Making you blush.

He taps his wand along the snakes in a pattern, and the stone transforms into a doorway. He opens it, stepping up into the open archway. He offers you his hand, tongue in cheek. He’s still clearly amused with himself. So you step in without his help, pushing past him. The room you enter is dimly lit, and massive. It’s dark and cozy with elegant furniture.

There’s an ornate chandelier and high ceilings. Plenty of large windows covered by black velvet curtains. You shudder, realizing the intruder could be out there right now. Lucius was going to go out there alone? That didn’t seem safe.

“Where are the others?” You glance around, noticing that Marcus and Narcissa are absent.

Lucius sets the candle on a table as the passageway disappears.

“Their rooms, probably.” He replies, expressionless. “The West Wing is secure. It’s your room that isn’t protected.

“Well that’s... comforting.” You narrow your eyes at him. “But aren’t you going to go see for certain that they’re alright?”

He shrugs. “No, I don’t think I will.”

You huff. “Why not?”

He sighs, not answering you right away. “Please, Miss Hyde, just sit down.”

He gestures towards a set of chairs and a small table. He sits gracefully, taking one of the chairs himself.

“Sit?” You repeat. “But…”

“I’m going to check the grounds in a moment.” Lucius says. “For now… sit.”

You nod, taking a seat. You sit carefully, crossing your legs at the ankle. You feel quite bare in your silky nightgown and robe, and now you feel nervous. Too nervous to speak first. To acknowledge what happened earlier.

You look around the room in curiosity, at the stack of books at the bedside. At the silk duvet, a rich dark green. The dark, intricately carved headboard. Several large still-life paintings hang on the walls and a large mirror that runs from the floor to just several feet under the tall ceiling. It’s dark in here, with lots of black velvet curtains and silver accents.

It’s beautiful and luxurious without being ostentatious. It’s massive but still feels comforting. It’s decorated so that the bed is the focal point of the room. Perhaps that’s why your eyes keep drawing back to it. Not because you’re imagining Lucius reclined comfortably in it’s covers. This room really fits him. Pretty and pompous and _perfect._ It even smells nice in here. Something amber and woodsy and divine.

You clear your throat. “So… this is your room.”

He nods, eyes penetrating you with a curious stare.

“Do you like it?” He asks silkily.

You flush at his deep, sensual tone, thankful for the dim lighting.

“Mhm.” You respond tightly. Then you clear your throat again. It feels warm in here, maybe excessively so.

His lips turn up into a mischievous smile. “Good. You will be staying here tonight.”

“Sorry?” You clear your throat once more.

“Would you like a throat lozenge, Miss Hyde?” He asks smoothly, _innocently_ , though his eyes glint wickedly. “I’m sure I can get Dobby to fetch one for you.”

You narrow your eyes at him, remembering the last time you two spoke before leaving Hogwarts. When you held on to the book he needed for longer than necessary.

“Do you really still remember that day, after all this time?”

He nods.

You roll your eyes, smiling. “My word. You’re so _petty._ ”

“I’m persistent.” He amends, eyes boring right through you. “I typically get what I want, Miss Hyde. That much, you already know.”

It’s like he can see right through your nightgown, and he might as well be able to. You don’t have much on underneath. Which is dangerous. Being here with him is dangerous. For all intents and purposes, you’ve followed a deadly snake to its den. You’re practically at his mercy now. There’s nowhere to escape. But you can’t give in so easily.

“Benefits of growing up as an only child, I’m sure.” You smirk, trying to regain control of the conversation. Directing it away from anything too dangerous seems like the best course of action. Though, it seems you both naturally gravitate towards challenging one another.

He shrugs, smiling freely. “I always wondered what it would be like to have siblings.”

“A lot of shouting and sharing, I’m afraid.” You offer, and he arches an eyebrow.

“So I’ve heard.”

It falls silent between you, although you find your gaze drawn to his lips as his thumb swipes across his lower lip.

When you look back up, his gaze is on you, and your heart skips a beat.

“You have something to say.” He says, tone more serious. His stare is even more penetrating. It’s like the air is sizzling with heat, electricity. It burns you from the inside out, just being looked at by him.

You could just say it. You could have him right here and now. But you won’t. You won’t give in.

“I meant what I said,” You tell him, a tad breathlessly, as you lift your chin in defiance. “I won’t say it. I won’t beg for you.”

“Is that right?” Lucius tilts his head, gaze still dark. After a few impossibly long moments, he stands, shrugging. “Very well, then. I should go check on the guards.”

“Oh.” You nod, feeling a surge of disappointment. “Alright.”

He smirks, and you avert your eyes. He gathers his suit jacket from the bed and shrugs it on.

“When I get back, we will discuss your very interesting choice in... dining attire.”

Your gaze snaps to his. His light blue eyes look darker, hungrier as he walks up to you. He swoops down, capturing your lips in a swift kiss before he disapparates.

You blink, fingertips touching your lips in awe as he disappears. You’re a blushing schoolgirl all over again.

_This isn’t good,_ You decide, pacing back and forth in the open space in front of the bed. You have no way of knowing what’s happening out there. What if something happens to Lucius. What if the others come here, looking for him and find _you_ in your nightgown.

Ten or fifteen minutes pass in silence, then twenty. Then thirty, and eventually you can’t pace back and forth anymore. You’re not going to stand around and do nothing while the manor could be under attack. Or maybe there is no threat and this is all some game. It’s time for you to investigate this yourself.

If your knockback jinx earlier was any indication, you still are very much capable of defending yourself.

As quietly as you can, you slip out into the hallway. It’s brighter, lit by more candles than it was in Lucius’s dim bedroom. You peer left and right, before tiptoeing across the marble to look down the staircase. It’s clear. You tiptoe down the steps, admiring the parts of the manor you’d never seen before.

Gorgeous high vaulted ceilings adorned in gold and silver. Stained glass windows and massive paintings. Intricate fine marble floors and gilded wall sconces. It’s warm and comforting and gorgeously decorated, just like all other parts of the home.

The West wing appears to split into two sides. You take the left side of the corridor, searching for a way to the main hall.

You’re thankful you’re wearing slippers now, as you hear other footsteps echo through the halls. As you begin to round the corner, you see a flash of black hair. You gasp, pressing yourself back against the wall around the corner, out of sight.

Narcissa. That was close. If she’s out walking the hallway, maybe all was okay? So why would Lucius lie about an intruder...

“Don’t be absurd, Marcus.” She says quietly. “He isn’t in his room. He’s out investigating whatever is happening.”

So something was happening. But why was Narcissa out of her room, then? Was she going to go find Lucius?

“Ah, and so you’ve sought out your ever loyal Viscount.” He laughs, “A downgrade from your prince, i’m sure.”

_Hang on… What?_

“We both know Lucius isn’t royalty.” She scoffs. “For the last time, please stop calling him my prince.”

“He may as well be, darling. While there is no magical monarchy here in England, if there were, Lucius would be considered the King, and even I know that. Let’s not pretend your grandmere chose him for any other reason than to elevate your family beyond its means. It’s definitely not for your _chemistry._ ” He chuckles.

“Must we always talk about this?” Narcissa sighs.

“Mhmm. We must…” Marcus says silkily, and you resist the urge to peek around the corner. He’d used the same tone earlier when he was complimenting your dress. Was he… flirting with Narcissa? “Especially when you keep visiting me like this, darling. One might think you’ve changed your mind.”

You have to hold a hand over your mouth to silence your gasp. Visit him… _as in?_ Your jaw drops.

“Don’t be absurd.” Narcissa snaps. “The wedding is on, and that won’t change.”

“Very well.” Marcus says dryly. “I had plans to visit a certain librarian anyway. I thought I should, you know… Make sure she’s alright.”

“Marcus!” Narcissa whisper-yells. “You can’t possibly be considering pursuing that… that _wretched mudblood._ You-”

“I what, Narcissa? I’m single, or have you forgotten?” Marcus says, in a tone unlike anything you’ve heard from him before. It’s not light and teasing. It’s pained and impassioned. “I am free to see whoever I wish? Free to do as I ple-”

Their voices cut off abruptly. Had they been attacked by the intruder? It’s silent save for a soft moaning sound.

You sneak a very small peek around the corner with your wand drawn and jerk backwards immediately. You blink your eyes as you shuffle backwards, as far away from the scene as possible.

Marcus and Narcissa…. They were… _snogging._ Merlin’s bloody beard.

You keep tiptoeing backwards, until you smack into something hard, and your surprised yelp is cut off as a warm hand clamps over your mouth.

“Hush.” A warm breath sends shivers down your spine. “Let’s go.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Your first instinct is to scream, but you would recognize that pale, ring-clad hand anywhere.** _Lucius?_

As the hand clamps over your mouth, another snakes its way around your waist, pulling you flush into the warm, firm body behind you which is absolutely, _unmistakably_ Lucius. He leads you backwards away from the corridor. When you finally reach the staircase, he releases you. You catch your breath and he holds a finger to his lips. The message is clear.

Stay silent.

He pulls you along with him up the stairs, all the way back into his room. When the door is shut behind you, he flicks his wand several times at the lock, and then turns on his heel to face you.

“What were you _thinking?_ ” He snarls at you.

No. You are not putting up with his attitude. There’s already too much going on in your head after witnessing _that._

“I was tired of waiting.” You shrug, crossing your arms over your chest. “I wasn’t going to sit around and wait while you were out there… getting attacked, or hurt, or something!”

Lucius sighs, running a hand through his hair. It falls more to one side as he tilts his head, watching you with a bewildered expression.

“What were you planning to do?” He asks, eyes narrowed. “Were you going to come to my rescue in your _slippers_?”

“Maybe I would.” You shrug, chin lifted in defiance. “Someone ought to come, if you’re in danger, don’t you think?”

He looks at you for a moment like you’ve grown a second head.

“Nevermind… the grounds have been cleared.” Lucius says, finally. “I made my way back to my room right away and imagine my surprise when I found my room empty. I assumed you to have at least some sort of self-preservation, but I suppose I was wrong.”

There he is again, your stick-up-the-arse boss.

“You really have to have control over everything, don’t you?”

“Not everything, Miss Hyde.” He snaps. “Just the important things.”

You glare up at him. He can be so infuriating. He gets your blood boiling in just seconds by just being his _lovely_ self. A true bastard.

“Well what was it?” You ask, “What broke through the wards?”

“It’s been dealt with.”

“Was there even an intruder, then?” You watch him with narrowed eyes.

He sighs, clearly exasperated for one reason or another.

“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He mutters grumpily.

“Try me.”

He meets your stare dead on. “A rather large colony of kneazles.”

“Kneazles?” You repeat dubiously

“Vicious little things.” He sighs. “I was lucky to make it out unscathed.”

He strokes his jaw, looking deep in thought. Then he rolls his shoulders back to brush it off. He’s not serious… is he?

“Kneazles.” You feel like you need to clarify you aren’t imagining things. “The sweet fluffy little cat-like things? _Kneazles._ You have to be joking.”

“There were more than twenty of them. And they were anything but sweet. Aggressive enough to break down the fence and get through the wards.”

“Kneazles.” You smirk. “Seriously?”

He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly appearing nervous in front of you for the first time. You narrow your eyes at him, trying to determine if he’s lying. You wouldn’t put it past him, but it’s almost impossible to tell. He’s just that good.

Could this all really have been due to a swarm of feral magical cats? You don’t know if you should simply laugh or call his bluff.

“Well since there is no _real_ threat,” You shrug, “I will be going back to my room.”

“No.”

“No?” You blink.

“No.”

“Look, whatever _arrangements_ you and Narcissa have with one another, I’m not interested in being any part of it.” You tell him pointedly. “That’s all that I want to say to you. I won’t be your… secret affair. I won’t be some frivolous fling before your wedding.”

“Arrangements?” His brow furrows.

“Yes. Whatever you and Narcissa and Marcus have all worked out, I want no part of it.”

“What does Marcus have to do with anything?” He grits out angrily. “I thought we agreed you would stay away from him. “

“What…?” You’re about to snap back about this so-called agreement that never actually, occurred when you realize something. Lucius might not know about Narcissa and Marcus after all. Your eyes go wide. “Don’t you… Well, I assumed you knew.”

“What?” His eyes narrow. “What is it?”

“Didn’t you see what happened in the hallway?”

“No. I was too busy looking for _you_ , Miss Hyde.” He steps closer. “Did Marcus find you, then?”

“Oh for the love of chocolate _sodding_ frogs, Not everything is about Marcus!” You snap. “Though I suppose this particular news-”

“Miss Hyde.” Lucius grumbles impatiently. “What happened?”

“Are we ever going to drop formalities?” You blurt out.

You were in a satin negligee in his bedroom. You’d kissed. Several times. Was he really going to keep calling you by your surname?

“ _Miss Hyde._ ”

“I suppose not, then.” You sigh.

He arches a brow at you. “Out with it.”

“Narcissa and Marcus…” You gulp. “They were… snogging.”

You wince, ready for his angry reaction. Maybe he’d deny it. Maybe he’d storm downstairs and demand to call off the wedding.

“Oh.” He exhales slowly, shoulders relaxing. “Right. Figures.” He rolls his eyes.

Rolls. His. Eyes.

“Right?! What do you mean _right_?”

“I am aware of their relationship, Miss Hyde.” Lucius smirks. “I assure you nothing happens in this house that I am not aware of. I have eyes and ears everywhere… ”

“You do?”

He nods, shrugging off his jacket again. “I do.”

You hold his gaze as he walks towards you. “Does it not bother you?!”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I imagine they’ve been involved for many years. It doesn’t bother me, especially not when my mind is otherwise occupied.”

You can only stare up at him, bewildered.

“Occupied by someone who is both exceptionally bright and insufferably irritating. She’s bewitching. Haunts my thoughts day and night.”

Your breath hitches as he slowly moves closer. “Oh?”

“Oh, yes.” He nods, smirking. “Of course, she was once a Hufflepuff…” He wrinkles his nose. “But I imagine she would have held her own against the boldest and brightest of any other house. Of course, she’s also rather disobedient. She dresses... entirely too distracting for me to get any work done, or to pay my other guests any mind.”

He leans down to kiss you, but you jerk away.

“Very funny. So its that what I am to you?” You demand. “Just some annoying but convenient distraction for you? Am I something to occupy your mind until you’re married? Was that supposed to be flattering?”

You swallow the sudden lump in your throat, not daring to meet his eyes.

“Miss Hyde,” Lucius sighs. “ _Estella_ , look at me.”

You’re powerless to do anything else but as he says, finally hearing his deep voice caress the syllables of your name. You shake your head, glaring up at him.

“A distraction is all I'll ever be available for.” His eyes plead with you. “You must know that. It’s a business deal. I have signed a contract. I promised my father before his passing. Everything has been set in motion since I was a child. I… I have no other option. It’s decided. I accepted it a long time ago, and it won’t be changing.”

“But is it what you truly want, Lucius?” You study his expression.

“It is my duty. What I want…” His eyes go hooded, and his lips brush yours. “Doesn’t matter.”

You allow him to kiss you just once. One long, lingering, passionate kiss that sets your whole body aflame, before you pull away and respond.

“I can’t continue to do this in good conscience, then.” You shake your head. “We can’t keep doing this. The kissing and sneaking around. I won’t.”

“Why?” Lucius demands. “Because of Narcissa? I turn a blind eye to her indiscretions, and she to mine. Until we’re married, none of it matters.”

Indiscretions... as in plural? Of course he has had more than one. You’re in way over your head. Just as you suspected.

Well you asked and you got your answer. ‘None of it matters.’

“No, not because of Narcissa. Because of my dignity.” You correct him, stepping backwards. “I deserve to be a priority to someone who cares for me, not some secret affair. I am not someone to be forgotten, nor am I something to be tossed aside after use.”

You turn towards the door, but he stops you by holding on to your wrist. His grip is loose, caressing. You shake him off.

“Will you just stay with me, then?” He asks, “Don’t go. Stay the night here. So I know you’re safe.”

 _From what, Kneazles?_ You’re about to retort until you look up into his eyes. He’s never looked so… vulnerable.

“Are you begging for me, then?” You say, attempting to make light of the situation with a teasing smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes.

His eyes study you with an expression you can’t quite read. “Hardly. I think you’ll find that you will say you need me long before I ever will.”

For a long, heavy moment, there’s that electric charge in the air again. You’re so close to just snapping your resolve and having him in every sense of the word. But you won’t. You’ve sobered from his words. He’s not going to call off his wedding for you. You mean nothing to him when all is said and done.

“Right.” You nod, smirking. “Well, if that’s all, then.”

“Wait.”

You have one hand on the door’s handle, and you look back at him with an expectant look.

“Stay.”

The nerve of him to try and use a tone of authority.

“Who do you think you are, to boss me around?” You snap.

He taps his lips, barely concealing an arrogant smile. He is your actual boss, after all. And he _knows_ that you know that fact.

“You know what?” You say, holding up a finger. “Don’t answer that. Goodnight, Lucius.”

“Estella, wait, _please._ ”

The strain in his voice is evident, even though you’re facing the door. It’s enough to break your resolve, to make you turn back slowly. Your heart pounds when you find him standing closer, stalking towards you.

“Stay with me. Please. Just tonight, until they leave.”

It’s his eyes. His broad shoulders that look so inviting. His full lips. It wears you down. That and the fact you might see something else in the hallways that you’d rather not, and you don’t want to brave the passageway alone.

You nod.

“Fine, I’ll sleep on the couch. But you’ll need to entertain me.” You say with a false haughty tone. And then, catching a glimpse of his falsely innocent smile, you amend. “And I don’t mean any of _that._ No more touching. No more kissing. No more funny business.”

“No funny business?” He says as he closes in, hands hovering over your waist, waiting for you to give in. “Then what? That leaves very little...”

You look around the room for a lifeline. Something. Anything. Because in his proximity, your ironclad will is dissolving. Fast. You desperately want his warm, large, talented hands to just...grab you and throw you on his bed. Let him have his way with you. You have a feeling it would just be everything you ever imagined, if the way he kissed was any indication.

But dignity. You have dignity. You are _no one’s_ mistress.

 _But those eyes._ No, come on, think. Think.

In the corner, your eyes settle on the most unexpected, delightful thing. “Is that…?”

“Ah ah ah.” Lucius smirks. “Are you sure you want to be in that position?”

“What?” You retort. “You think you might not be able to handle it, Malfoy?”

He laughs abruptly, a deep melodious sound. You can’t help but smile faintly as his whole face lights up.

“I think you’ll find I can handle any position you want, Hyde.” He says, “Especially when you leave yourself so open for the taking. This will be over quickly, I think.”

Your fingers close along the long, smooth wood, then you move your rook forward to it’s intended destination.

You’d both settled on a game of Wizard’s Chess as entertainment. You’ve fallen right back into your usual banter, and the mood is much lighter without all the undertones and innuendo.

It’s better this way. Right?

“You can simply order the pieces to do as you wish, you know...” Lucius tells you in a dry, haughty tone. “Knight to E5.”

The piece moves on its own, pulling out it’s sword and slicing across your pawn. Damn. You had been so close to getting one of your fallen pieces back.

“Old habits die hard.” You smile, shrugging. “I learned on a muggle board, and so I still like moving my pieces by hand. My brother taught me that way.”

Lucius nods. “An older brother?”

“Yes. The eldest. I had two older brothers.” You nod. “And a younger sister.”

He holds your gaze for a moment. “Do you still see them?”

You pause, trying not to show your surprise at his interest in the topic of your family.

You shake your head. “Not in a long time. Nor my mum, either. I’m the freak of the family, knowing magic and all.” You laugh derisively.

They had even asked you not to come to Christmas. Better off on your own, then. You were always independent. Always preferred solitude anyway.

“And your father?” He asks, and you blink. You never expected in your wildest dreams you’d be sitting with your old highschool nemesis in your nightgown, talking about your family.

“He was never really around.” You shrug. “When he was, he was stern, and decidedly disinterested in my family. He struggled to provide for us, and well, he was just… absent, emotionally. Mentally checked out except when he would drunkenly shout cruel things at my mother. I was lucky to get out of there at eleven, and only have to go home for summer holiday. But watching my mom like that, so submissive and downtrodden when he berated her... I decided I would never let anyone treat me that way.”

You exhale. It feels like a weight is lifted off your shoulders. You’d never told that to anyone before, and yet here you were, telling your sworn enemy. Your rival. The engaged man who’d kissed you. Your boss. When you look up, you find Lucius watching you curiously.

“My father was the most incredible man I ever knew.” He says, as though repeating a line he’d said a thousand times before. He sighs, staring at the board with concentration, looking for a hole in your line of defense. “He was also quite... absent. Uninterested in anything other than business. My mother always said that it was his burden to redeem the family. He expected as much from me as a child that he would any of his advisors. Competence, obedience, and excellence. Although. If he had not instilled such… discipline in me, I would not be the man I am today.”

“Must not have been easy, having so much to live up to.” You keep your gaze on the board too.

“Well, at the very least, he was clear about his expectations from the start.” Lucius sighs again. “I was instructed to make perfect grades, to keep the right company, and to be the strongest of my team and of my class. I was never to let anyone find a chip in my armor and exploit it. It was challenging, living up to his standards... but I regret nothing. He was only preparing me for my future.”

It gets silent for a few moves, then. Truthfully, his childhood life sounded very lonely. A loneliness you recognize and know well enough. But to say so to Lucius wouldn’t be tactful, nor would it be well-received. His pride wouldn’t allow the comparison of himself to a _mudblood._ Best to keep it to yourself, then.

You make your next move. If he falls into the trap, your next move will be checkmate. He studies the board, glancing up at you warily. Holding eye contact, he orders his piece away from your intended attack. You must react in some way, because he smiles slyly.

“An admirable attempt, but you should know Miss Hyde, that I’ve been undefeated for quite some time.”

“Really?” You scoff. “How long?”

“Six years.”

You roll your eyes. “Only because you never played me.” To which, he laughs.

He leans back in his chair, the most casual you’ve ever seen him. “Care to make a wager, then?”

You laugh. “What kind of wager?”

He studies you intently for a long moment. The heat of his gaze is too much. You look away first, studying the board.

“What do you want from me?” He asks softly. “If you win.”

You give a shuddering sigh. “Oh, I don’t know…” _You. All of you._

He waits patiently, hand snaking up his chest to undo another button on his shirt. You lick your lips, watching the motion. His arrogant smirk only irritates you, though. A sneaky seductive snake bastard. That’s what he is.

“If I win, you have to help me finish the library by the end of this week.” You announce, crossing your arms. “I want to move on to my next assignment.”

You don’t finish and tell him what you planned to say. That you don’t want to stick around and watch him prepare for his wedding to another woman. That it was asking too much.

His eyes seem to understand the underlying message. It’s an unspoken understanding. You aren’t going to discuss that. Not until the game is over.

“Very well.” He nods. “Is that all?”

You nod decisively. His fingertips stroke his chin thoughtfully, and it looks like he’s hiding a smirk. Damn him and his chiseled, adonis _bastard_ face.

“And if I win…” He drawls slowly. “I want you to sleep with me, here in my bed tonight.”

“Lucius…” You shake your head, groaning softly. “I thought we agreed-”

“Just to sleep.” He says with a sly smile. “No funny business.”

You narrow your eyes at him. Then you look at the massive bed, which looks more and more inviting every minute. It is getting pretty late, so t’s not like you hadn’t _thought_ about it.

What’s more, you’d been quite good at chess yourself, so he probably wouldn’t win anyway. It would be worth it just to get to boss him around the library for a week.

You smirk, leaning forward to hold out your right hand. “Fine. You have yourself a wager, Malfoy.”

If he’s suspicious of your confidence, he shows nothing. He takes your hand in his, shaking it. You do your best to ignore the warm sparks licking up your skin like flames where you touch, or how large and subtly calloused his hands are.

“Excellent, Miss Hyde.” He nods, releasing your hand. “Your turn, then.”

He’s arrogant enough to recline into his leather armchair, hands behind his head.

You study the board intently, thinking it’s quite the standoff… until…

“Queen to B3.” You announce. You’re simpering with a triumphant grin, until Lucius immediately retorts.

“Rook to D5.”

You glare at the board, watching his piece ruin your plan again. “Bastard.” You mumble.

“Nobody likes a sore loser, Estella.” He tuts, obviously proud of himself. Maybe that bruise on his face is well-earned after all.

You make a mental note to get him a potion or something after this. No... He might be irritating, but he’s actually teasing you, laughing.

You take a moment to absorb Lucius Malfoy acting like something other than an uptight arse for once in his life, even if it’s just to be a boastful winner.

You can’t take any more chances. It’s time you resort back to muggle tactics. Your fingertips float over your queen, then your knight, and finally your king. No. There’s no decent move.

You resort to shifting the king back a square. Lucius tuts, following your move. You shift your pieces fractionally, trying to buy more time.

“If you’re going to stay on the defensive, I suppose I have no choice.” He sighs as he shifts a piece from behind your queen to right behind the king.

You gape, hand ghosting over the piece you planned to move next. But--

“You can’t.” He reads your mind. “Your king would be-”

“It's a checkmate.” You sigh, shoulders slumping. “Congratulations.” You grumble, sinking your chin into your hand as you lean against the arm of the chair. You stifle a yawn into your hand.

“Feeling… _tired_ , Miss Hyde?” He asks with an air of false sincerity.

You narrow your eyes at him.

“Because if you are…” He continues, with an obnoxiously smug grin. Bastard. He’s so smug right now.

You stand, refusing to answer him. It’s not worth it to fight him. Now that the excitement of the game and the evening has settled, you’re incredibly exhausted.

“Just remember, no funny business”

You stride past his smug face over to the bed, throwing back the covers on the opposite side of the nightstand holding the books. That must be where he sleeps. Then you glare at him, slipping off your robe and kicking off your slippers, and sit on his bed. You feel the heat of his gaze as you lay back on the pillows, humming in content. This is the most comfortable mattress in the entire country, the entire world probably. You stretch out your legs, getting comfortable. Heaven.

Lucius is silent, at last. You yank up the covers and settle in, pointedly ignoring him as you set your wand on the nightstand.

“Goodnight Lucius.” You say sleepily, turning towards the wall.

“Goodnight Estella.” He says as he climbs in. You can practically hear his smirk.

_Bastard._ You think to yourself, as you drift off to sleep.


	20. Chapter 20

**Lucius knew that he had you beat before he even offered the wager.** He prided himself in always being several steps ahead. Apart from his chess record, it’s also how he kept leverage in business deals, and once, kept his quidditch team undefeated. This had been an easy win.

Or at least, he thought he’d won. But then you’d given him that sly smile, sauntering over to his bed.

 _His_ bed.

And _for the love of chocolate frogs,_ indeed. That short little satin nightgown... He was only a man, after all.

After that point, all he knew was a growing hunger, a growing need for you, and a growing disappointment that he’d _ever_ agreed not to touch you. His hands twitched at his sides.

His eyes followed the way your legs stretched out, revealing more and more of your smooth skin. Your face, lovely and completely calm as you laid against the pillow.

You looked younger, more childlike like this with your hair piled atop your head in a bun. Your rosy cheeks bare of makeup, your eyes sleepy and peaceful as they closed.

Something in his chest warmed as he watched you. You were safe in here. Protected and peaceful. You looked like you belonged here. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, smugly, as he climbed into bed next to you. Yes, this was exactly where he wanted you.

This small victory of having you here could work in his favor. Something between you had changed that night, and he knew it was out of his control. His resolve was fading fast.

He drifted to sleep not long after you.

\-----

_In his dream there was a boy in the doorway, looking in at Lucius from the hallway._

_“Father?” The boy said, peeking his head into the office._

_Father? This had once been his own father’s office. Was it his father’s eyes he was seeing with, now?_

_No. For a moment, the boy could have passed for a younger version of Lucius, but it wasn’t him. Uncannily similar, but not quite the same._

_Lucius set his quill down, arching an eyebrow at the boy. Of course. His son. He had a son. It was obvious now. How could he have forgotten?_

_“Come on in, son.” He nodded to the boy with a smile as he walked timidly up to the large desk. “Have a seat.”_

_The boy sat in the large chair across from Lucius, feet dangling as he kicked them in the air. The boy looked around the office, clearly overjoyed to be sitting with his father. Wide, expressive eyes. There was something so familiar about those eyes..._

_“What brings you to my office, young man?” Lucius put on a businesslike tone, knowing it thrilled the boy. Somehow, he knew this to be true._

_The child grinned, tilting his chin up proudly as he folded his hands in his lap. His feet stopped kicking and he sat up straight._

_“Well… Mum wants to know if you’re going to come outside with us.” The boy looked up at him with wide eyes and a hopeful smile._

_Lucius glanced down at the stack of paperwork, sighing._

_“Well.” He stood, sliding the stack into the top drawer and cleaning the tip of his quill. “We better not keep her waiting then.”_

_She was impatient, his wife. He had a wife. Of course, he did._

_The boy beamed, and together they walked down the long hallway towards the grounds. Lucius patiently listened to the boy chatter excitedly, jumping up and down in parts of his story. It reminded Lucius of a memory. His own father berating him for his poor posture._

_Lucius instinctually opened his mouth to tell the boy to straighten up and stand tall, before deciding against it. This was _his_ son. Not his father’s. He didn’t have to…_

_Suddenly they were at the end of the hall._

_The doors opened as they stepped out onto the terrace. The sun was low in the sky, and Lucius realized he’d spent all day in the office again. What he had been working on, he didn’t know, but it didn’t seem to matter anymore._

_The fresh air was welcome, as was the sight of you, leaning against the stone railing leading down into the gardens. You were standing there in a black dress, hair blowing in the breeze. Lovely as ever. Of course you were. But why were you here still?_

_The library had been done for years. He knew this, and yet..._

_You turned around, smiling as the boy ran into your arms._

_“Nicely done.” You gave the boy a wink and squeezed him into a hug. You looked up at Lucius and smiled. “After you missed breakfast and dinner, I knew I’d have to send in reinforcements.”_

_Lucius tilted his head curiously at you. “Narcissa?” He speaks, then frowns, feeling some odd realization that something was off about this. You weren’t Narcissa. You were his wife._

_It didn’t add up._

_You frowned, staring up at him. “Oh… right. You didn’t exactly say it, did you?”_

_What did that mean?_

_You turned around, facing towards the gardens, and your voice warped into a French lilt as you spoke again. “Did you, darling?”_

_Narcissa turned around where you once were. Her smile was stiff, but her eyes were warm. His wife._

_It still unsettled him._

_“No.” Lucius shook his head. “Nevermind. I realized I have something to do.”_

_She shrugged, smiling as she turned back to the view. “Well you better get to it, then.”_

_She began to walk down the steps to the garden alone. Lucius turned around, looking for the boy, but he was gone._

\--------

That’s when Lucius woke up, breathing hard. It was in the early hours of the morning. The sun wasn’t up yet. His dream had been… unsettling. As if second nature, he pulled your body towards his, watching your shoulders rise and fall as you nuzzled into him.

He wasn’t a believer in divination. Not in the way his kooky professor had once cooed about the shapes of tea dregs and symbols within dreams. Dream interpretation was nonsense. Logically, Lucius knew that his subconscious had only been trying to make him aware of something bothering him under the surface. But what? It had been so surreal.

Lucius looked at your sleeping face, heartbeat slowing again as he relaxed. You were here, still. It had only been a dream.

Logically, it was simply last-minute cold feet about the wedding. It was normal to be apprehensive about marriage, wasn’t it? He had thrived in solitude for so long. He was probably dreading the idea that he’d have to share his time and space with someone else for a change.

But really, he wouldn’t have to change his routine all that much. In some ways, things would be exactly as they were now, when he married Narcissa. They would lead separate lives, as did his mother and father and her parents and every married couple he knew. Though, to have children and carry on his family name, they would need to try and spend time together.

Before you arrived… No, even after you arrived, he had no doubts that he could do this. That he _would_ do this. For his family.

Narcissa was attractive enough. She charmed everyone in any room. She filled a list of his required qualities in a bride. Namely, that his father had always approved of her and that she was the best suited match of any pureblood woman.

Until a month ago, it had been enough for a spouse. Someone adequate to spend time with and to help to carry on his family name with a family. Just a business transaction. A mutually beneficial agreement.

Then in the past couple of weeks, he’d spent time watching you work. When you weren’t looking, he’d look in your direction, watching your brow furrowed in concentration and your full, pouty lower lip drawn between your teeth. You were just like you had been at eighteen.

A focused, ambitious, no-nonsense woman. Admittedly, a kindred soul to his in so many ways. Not quite his equal, but his rival. His opposite. A challenge to his mind, and a welcome distraction from his future.

Since your arrival, he’d shown you around his home, watching your delight as you discovered tiny details he’d grown used to, bored of even. Things that he stopped and enjoyed as you studied them with that smile that made him forget to speak.  
You had haunted his subconscious and dissolved his remaining self-control until there was none. Until he’d found himself seeking to discover the things that made you angry, that delighted you.

Before any of that ever happened, his future never unsettled him. But that was then and this was now. For now, he could hold you close to him and have this moment of peace. With you. A muggleborn. The only woman to disarm him entirely. The only one to anger, thrill, and excite him. A muggleborn. Someone who could not and would not be his, except for tonight.

He won’t continue to think about it. He pushes the hair off your face and you sigh in content. He lays on his back staring at the ceiling and you, still asleep, move closer and rest your head on his chest. Your eyes are closed and your breathing is even and in another life, he would want nothing more than this every night.

But it didn’t matter what he wanted. He had a duty to his family. Everything he’d ever worked for was built up to this moment. To make his father proud, he would carry on the legacy of this family and do what had been asked of him.

Eventually, he fell back asleep. This time, it was dreamless.

As you blink your eyes open to the new day, the first thought that occurs to you is that it’s entirely too warm in your bed. The second, as you try to stretch, is that you can’t move. Because you’re pinned underneath a strong arm. A leg is draped over one of yours, and there’s even a chin nestled at the top of your head. You’re not even sleeping on a pillow, but rather, an arm. An unmistakable muscular arm.

Lucius. Every inch of you is pressed to him in some way.

For a few quiet minutes, you allow yourself the guilty pleasure of staying right where you are. Sleepily, your gaze travels around the room, landing on the abandoned chess set. Last night you had shared things with Lucius that you’d never shared with anyone else and he, you presume, had also shared something he held deep inside of him, with _you._

It had been unexpected.

Still, no matter what he told you, no matter how he looked at you, or even held you... he was planning to marry Narcissa. This has the potential to get out of hand. You’re slipping, letting yourself get too attached to someone who doesn’t have good intentions for you. Your best plan is to get out of here without talking about it.

You try stretching again, successfully dislodging your leg from under his and wiggling out of his grip.

Lucius grumbles sleepily, arm reaching out to pull you back into his chest. You freeze, but the rise and fall of his chest indicates he’s still sleeping. You crane your neck to look backwards, finding his eyebrows drawn together as he nuzzles back into the pillow. He’s effortlessly handsome, even when he’s sleeping.

You wait a few moments before grabbing his arm and lifting it again. He responds by squeezing you tighter to his body. And then the corners of his lips twitch upwards.

He’s awake. Bastard.

“Lucius.” You whisper, “Get off. I’ve got to go.”

He groans, a deep sound that goes straight to your core.

“Where are you going?” He grumbles. His voice is so sleepy and sexy. “I don’t believe you have work today. I would know, wouldn’t I?”

You look up at him in exasperation as you wiggle away and he peeps an eye open. His arm holds you firmly in place. He’s smirking. Bastard.

“You agreed, no funny business.” Your protest doesn’t pack any power, though, because you’ve never more calm or more comfortable than you have while laying against him. Your voice is sleepy, too. Too calm and sleepy to be indignant.

He looks down at you for a long moment, studying your face. The corners of his lips twitch up. You keep your expression guarded as you wake up fully pulling away again.

“Right.” He sighs, nodding as he releases you. “I suppose I did agree, didn’t I?”

You sit up in the bed, smirking at his sleepy, sullen face. He groans again, stretching. He sighs, then both of his eyes open and he stares at you with hooded eyes as he leans back and lounges against the pillows.

He’s truly a sight for sleepy eyes, and you find yourself smiling at him as you stay seated on the bed.

“I thought you said you needed to go somewhere” His deep morning voice gives you chills. He narrows his eyes, arm snaking around your waist as he pulls you down on top of him. You laugh, falling over his torso without struggle.

He’s so warm, and strong and firm and wow. This is nice.

“Well,” He shrugs with a roguish grin, “I’m not in a hurry if you aren’t.”

His hands run along your waist, over your silky nightgown.

“Lucius…” You bite your lip, sitting atop him so your knees fall on either side of his hips.

Your intentions were to have a conversation face to face. But now you’re straddling him. Oh, Merlin.

He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He grips your hips, sitting up straighter against the headboard and pulling you with him. You gasp, feeling his strong grip on your thighs. “Yes, my faithful servant Estella?”

You look into his eyes, pleadingly. Because he’s teasing you about your letter to his younger self, and it’s like he switched on that witty bastard personality you can’t resist. Plus, you’re putty in his hands. It feels so right being here with him, being close to him. He’d just lifted you and pulled you like you weighed nothing. Merlin, he’s not even wearing a shirt.

Your mind screams at you to get it together. This is the very definition of ‘out of hand.’

You shift in his lap, but that’s the wrong thing to do. His eyes grow darker, jaw grinding in clear frustration.

“I meant what I said. I’m not doing this.” You blurt, glancing down from his penetrative stare to where your hips meet his. Also a mistake, because you can _feel_ him.

Now you need to look somewhere else. His shoulders are so broad and strong, his biceps so well-defined. Mmm.

Not there either, then.

He chuckles as you practically jump off of him and crawl to the edge of the bed. You stand, tugging down on the hem of your nightgown. “I’ve got to go and… fix… the...”

You trail off as he stands and stretches in front of you. Sweet pumpkin pasties.

His body is a work of art. He’s flawless, pure raw masculinity. Rippling muscle from his chest to his well-defined abs. He’s even got that delicious v-shaped dip between his hips. Sparse blonde hair that disappeared down from his navel into his pants.

You knew that the man worked out religiously and that he could fill out a suit like no other man, but _damn._ You swallow the sudden dryness in your throat and feel your pulse flutter as you try to tear your gaze away. His eyes open as he finishes stretching, and find yours immediately. Now he’s caught you staring. Perfect. He cocks his head to the side, smirking.

“Everything alright, Miss Hyde?”

He’s teasing you again. For once it doesn’t make you swell with rage. It’s almost endearing. Something has changed between you two last night, and you’re not prepared to deal with it.

You can only nod, tongue darting out to wet your dry lips. Maybe… maybe begging wouldn’t be so bad? You have a gnawing feeling that you might have a stronger regret _not having him_ than if you did.

“Hm.” He hums. “If you say so.”

You can only watch as he turns around and you’re greeted with the sight of his strong back as he opens a wardrobe and grabs a stack of clothes. He turns around, catching you staring again. He arches a brow, smugly. You flush, looking away at the floor.

“If I had known this was all it took for you to become speechless in my presence, Miss Hyde, I would have invited you to watch me change weeks ago.”

A small swell of indignation rises in your chest, anger for his teasing which hits right on the mark of a sensitive subject--but you’re at a loss for words as those cool blue eyes roam over you. You’re utterly docile and practically drooling as he stalks towards you.

He looks _that_ good.

“I’m going for a run. Unless...” One of his warm hands lifts your chin so you’re looking up at him. “You have something to say? Something… to ask for, perhaps?”

He smirks, flashing a row of perfectly straight white teeth.

You blink, shaking your head. “Uhhh, nope. No, I’m fine, thanks.”

You take his hand and shove it back towards him. He keeps the grip on your wrist loose, but firm. Reluctantly, you meet his eyes again.

“All you have to do is say those words. Just say it. Say that you need me, and you can have me, _Estella_ ” His blue eyes hold yours captive as you take much longer than you usually would to form a response.

You eventually come to your senses, blushing as you pull your wrist back. “I’ll never say it first, _Lucius_. I can promise you that.”

You shake your head. It’s final. You have dignity to upkeep.

… Right?

His head tilts towards yours and he leans down. He’s just inches from your face. You could easily--

“Very well, then.” He says, with a sly smirk. “Don’t let me keep you.”

He steps around you, walking towards a door which you assume leads to the bathroom.

“I’ll have Dobby escort you to your room. Breakfast is at nine.” He calls over his shoulder, disappearing into the next room with nonchalance.

You shrug on your robe and slippers, with a huff, glancing towards the door where he disappeared.

No. Nope. No. Negative. Not happening… right? Where was your inner voice of dignity now? Awfully quiet all of a sudden.

There’s a small pop, startling you, and Dobby appears. He smiles, timidly offering you his hand. Well, it’s decided then. You've succeeded in resisting him. It doesn’t really feel like a win, though.

As soon as you’re back in your room, the elf bows goodbye with a cheeky glint of amusement in his eyes. Then he disappears once more.

You sigh, opting to shower and dress for the day instead of dwelling on the situation. You’ll have to face it eventually. The fact that you’re disappointed you didn’t give in.

Your mail is on one of the end tables, and you shuffle through a few envelopes. A few from work, which can wait until tomorrow. A medical reminder to get a dragon pox shot from St. Mungo’s before summer is in full swing and cases are on the rise. There’s also another letter from Madam Wiggins, or _Lyla_ as you’ve come to call her through nearly a month’s worth of correspondence. She has invited you to come visit her cottage in Scotland when you can.

You pen your response to her, sending it off with an elf to the owlery. You check the time, unfolding the prophet. It’s shameful, but you can’t be bothered with the headline about Gringotts adding dragons to their security, or the proceeding articles about the ongoing nutritional studies of pepper-up potions. Yawn. You flip right to the society column.

It’s the best written column, and it just so happens that the journalist in charge is your one and only friend at the adjoining office to the AAA: the Daily Prophet’s Alexis Ainsley. As the picture animates and you scan the headline, your jaw drops.

_**Young Heiress Andromeda Black Elopes With Muggle Man in Secret Courthouse Wedding, Bucking Pureblood Tradition.** _

My, my. Breakfast was going to be quite interesting, indeed.


	21. Chapter 21

**You’re humming as you stroll along the long hallway of the East wing, headed to the main dining room for breakfast.** It's a beautiful sunny day. Your pale blue sundress swings just above your knees as you take a sharp turn. You pass through the large formal dining hall and the enormous long table that could probably fit at least seventy people, to the smaller dining room where you’ve been having dinner for the past few days. You smile at the elf that opens the double doors for you.

Yes, today is going to be a lovely day indeed, and it’s not just because you slept so well last night.

A subtle smirk lifts the corners of your lips as you step into the dining room and hear the shouting. Oh, this is going to be so _good._ Karma is truly a blessed and beautiful thing. A magnificent energy which occasionally had the benevolence to be instantaneous.

If there ever was proof that Karma existed, it was in the way that Narcissa had lamented in pure anguish over the concept of a magical person ever marrying a muggle… meanwhile her sister had done just that very ‘disgusting’ thing, earlier that very day.

Beautiful, perfect karma.

“I simply can’t _believe_ she would betray her own flesh and blood! For a _muggle_ , no less. This is...” Narcissa screeches, making a sound like a strangled cat.

She launches into a tirade completely in french. It’s music to your ears. It feels like the Universe is giving you a high-five. It’s so, _so_ satisfying.

You walk further in the room, to the end of the “small” twenty-person table. It’s the smallest dining table in the home, apparently. Sitting with the screeching pureblood princess is Marcus and a freshly showered Lucius.

“Good morning, everyone.” You greet them cheerfully, feigning ignorance of the situation.

The sound of your voice cuts off Narcissa’s impassioned ranting, and she narrows her eyes at you. You give her an innocent smile, before approaching the seat next to Lucius. He gives you a once-over, making you feel decidedly warmer all over and very thankful that you picked this sundress.

“Good morning, Estella.” Marcus says, setting down his glass of orange juice. “You look radiant as ever. Did you sleep well?”

His eyes dart to Lucius and his smile stretches like the cheshire cat. He knows. Somehow, _he knows._ You arch an eyebrow at him.

“Oh with the intrusion?” You nod, playing it cool. “Well, I was quite concerned, but a house-elf was sent to assure me that I would be safe. I slept just fine, thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Marcus nods in response. “I tried to find you, but no one answered at your door when I came to visit.”

His brows draw together in false concern, eyes lit with amusement. Cad.

“Oh?” Oh no.

“I had Estella moved to another room.” Lucius clears his throat. “Interestingly enough, Marcus, I checked on _your_ room and no one was there, either.”

He tilts his head at Marcus, who opens and closes his mouth. Lucius smirks, shaking his head subtly before he continues.

“But now I understand.” He smiles, almost innocently. His gaze is sharp as ever, though. “You went to check on my archivist. I can’t thank you enough for your _dedication_ to my staff, Marcus.”

A laugh threatens to bubble out of your throat, but you sip your water just in time.

“Of course.” Marcus smiles tightly, averting his gaze.

“Nevermind any of that!” Narcissa snaps, eyes comically wide. She clears her throat. “Andromeda is trying to ruin me. Oh, I could strangle her.”

She looks at Lucius. “ _Our_ wedding is in five weeks and she just has to make _everything_ about her. Always ruining things for our family with her liberal opinions and her drama. Now she’ll be written off the family tree. I’ll never get to see her again...”

Narcissa pouts, eyes searching Lucius’s for confirmation. Lucius watches her curiously, not confirming or denying her silent question. _Will we condemn Andromeda?_

Marcus hums, patting her hand affectionately. He seems to feel genuine pity for her.

But you? You’re delighted at her misery. Especially after her little prejudiced speech last night.  
Because her sister’s scandal was in the Daily Prophet, and the entire English wizarding community would know about it come Monday.

Andromeda is the first pureblood noble to openly and publicly go against tradition in quite some time. Such had been the central topic of the column. Ainsley wrote of the pureblood society as if it were a monarchy on a death spiral, the last dregs of an era gone by. It was a huge risk as a journalist. It would have been easy to write a puff piece about any pureblood party or the latest extravagant purchases of some wealthy socialite. Instead, your friend chose to write about something that mattered.

This, however, would be a scandal of epic proportions. Especially when the news covered MACUSA’s new laws just yesterday.

Now Narcissa's wedding was going to be under the shadow of her sister's infamy. Sweet, sweet karma. The only thing that could make this better would be popcorn.

“Well, Narcissa,” Marcus says softly. “Perhaps we should be happy for her for following her heart.”

“Yes, I’m sure she’s very happy.” Narcissa groans, looking up at Marcus.” And I _would_ be happy for her… even if he is a... a...”

“A muggle?” You offer, trying your best not to look delighted at the opportunity to speak. Then you shove a forkful of potatoes into your mouth.

Her eyes shoot daggers in your direction as she nods. “Indeed. But she’s ruined what’s supposed to be _my_ wedding month. This is _my_ time.” Narcissa’s hand slams on the table. “Grandmere has been planning this event for over a decade. And who do you think will need to smooth everything over? Me, of course.”

Her breathing grows shallow, and you wonder if she might faint. Poor thing. She looks nervously at Lucius again, who has so far said absolutely nothing.

Lucius offers a half-shrug, half-nod, averting his eyes almost immediately. He looks deep in thought.

“Well you could always postpone the wedding, wait until this all blows over.” Marcus offers as he lifts a speared breakfast sausage to his mouth. His eyes dance with mischief as they turn to you and Lucius.

“No, no.” Narciss is scowling down at the plate like she’d lost her appetite. “That’s not necessary.” She sighs heavily. A few long moments of silence pass, and she looks at Lucius again while gnawing her lip. Lucius is watching her with interest.

“No.” He agrees, nodding. “Not necessary.”

Narcissa looks relieved. You feel a pit forming in your stomach. He didn’t actually _want_ to cancel the wedding. See? This is why you shouldn’t give in. Your feelings don’t matter here, not to anyone but you.

“Though,” He continues slowly, and you fix your gaze on your plate, fiddling with a bit of egg. He pauses to sip from his mug.

“Yes?” Narcissa visibly bites her lip.

Lucius takes another sip. Still, he doesn’t speak. He’s relaxed as ever. Bastard. You keep your mouth shut, nibbling your toast in silence and glancing back and forth between them like it’s a tennis match. Even Marcus is silent.

Lucius sets down his cup, relaxing as he exhales.

“I was going over our contract this morning, and I would like to discuss a few things with your Grandmere.” Lucius’s sharp gaze hones in on his fiance with an intensity you’d seen directed at you several times before. A look of challenge. Or was it passion? Maybe he wanted her after all. “I hear she’s no longer ill, so I’d like to see her... if she’s up to it.”

“Of course darling.” Narcissa nods slowly, carefully. She takes a sip of her tea. “What interests you in the contract, if I may ask?”

“Just some minor details… _phrasing_ , that’s all.” He gives her a polite smile. “Nothing to worry about.”

Narcissa audibly exhales. Your chest tightens. He wasn’t going to be calling off the wedding, then. For a brief moment, you had allowed yourself to imagine that possibility. You’d allowed yourself hope. But it’s just a fantasy, imagining that things could be different.

If anything, this is a reminder not to get your heart into this… whatever this is.

“So, Estella.” Marcus gives you a winning smile, seemingly unbothered. “I hope Lucius doesn’t have you working too hard today. You did promise me a game of croquet.”

“That should be fine” Lucius answers for you, which irritates you. “Perhaps I’ll join in, as well.”

 _Of course_ he will. Control-freak bastard!

Narcissa perks up at that. “Really? How wonderful.”

She gives Lucius a wide smile, batting her long eyelashes in his direction. He returns the smile, eyes dancing with something akin to satisfaction.

Well, you have to admit she’s rather pretty. She looks like someone who belongs with Lucius. They’ll make pretty kids, live in pretty places. Pretty, perfect purebloods. You set your fork down. It makes you nauseous to think about their future together. She must catch the change in your expression, because she turns to you.

“Do muggleborns play croquet?” She smiles at you, looking innocent enough.

“Some do.” You respond, shrugging.

 _Rich_ people play croquet. The ones that have a yard to play in. Not those with tiny flats and townhouses. People who have enough free time to be bored and knock a ball around on the grass, not full-time jobs.

“So you’ve never played before?” Narcissa coos. “Well, It’s rather complicated. You could always watch, instead.”

You shrug. If you’re not wanted, you can always work on the Library.

“Nonsense.” Lucius says.

“Indeed, she must play.” Marcus agrees, smiling. “You must learn by practice, especially the magical version. In fact-”

“I’ll teach her myself.” Lucius interjects, smiling. “We’ll play doubles. I know just how well you and Narcissa get along and truly _enjoy_ each other’s company, Marcus. What do you say?”

Lucius lifts a brow in question. His smile is kind enough, but you feel a small swell of excitement at his jumping to your defense.

No, he’s just putting them in their place. It has nothing to do with you.

“Er, right.” Marcus agrees, averting his eyes. “Sounds splendid, doesn’t it, Cissy?”

Narcissa chokes a bit on her tea, nodding. Her cheeks flush. “Oh, right. Yes. That should work.”

“Team Beauxbatons versus Team Hogwarts, hmm?” Marcus strokes his chin, smiling with a wink at Narcissa. “I like the sound of that.”

Narcissa laughs hesitantly, glancing nervously at Lucius. “Well, alright.”

The game is set up in the gardens, on a massive stretch of grass. It’s surrounded by a string of weeping willows and a winding path. It never fails to surprise you how large this estate truly is. You’ve never seen this part before.

Beside Lucius, you stand holding a wooden mallet as Narcissa takes her hit.

“See how she lines up the mallet and aims it at the wicket?” Lucius says in your ear, and you flush at the proximity. You incline your head, belatedly. He eyes you curiously.

Narcissa smiles in triumph as her ball rolls through the first two hoops with ease. The hoops come alive, blue confetti flying in the air to match the color of the ball that went through. You smile in delight at the spectacle. Lucius catches your eye for a lingering moment before you both turn back to the game.

“Well done.” Lucius nods at Narcissa as she walks past to take another hit, and she winks at him.

When it’s your team’s turn, Lucius sets down the ball.

“You’re going to aim it to go through that first hoop.” He places a hand on your hip, pulling you gently to take the spot where he stands and turn you towards the hoop.

He steps back and you grip the mallet. You hear a high pitched giggle. Narcissa is covering her mouth with her hand as she looks at you. Were you doing something wrong?

You bend slightly, preparing to take your shot.

“Er,” Lucius steps forward, hand covering yours before you can swing. He twists the mallet so you’re holding it with more control. “You want to hold it like this.”

You feel his chest press behind you, arms enclosing around you slightly as he shows you how to aim. Your breath shallows, feeling his hands move yours on the handle.

“There.” His breath fans across your neck as he adjusts your stance. “Just like that.”

Then he steps away, and you wish your heartbeat would settle down so you could focus on your shot.

You take your swing, and the red ball rolls through the first hoop, then steadily through the second. Red confetti flies into the air, vanishing before it hits the ground. It’s exhilarating.

Lucius smiles proudly at you. “Excellently done, Miss Hyde.”

You shrug, smiling as you twirl the handle mallet in your hand. “Why, thank you, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Beginner’s luck.” Narcissa says, nodding. “Nice shot.”

You nod in thanks. Lucius walks forward, giving Marcus space for his shot, and you follow him. Marcus makes it through the first two hoops easily, and so does Lucius. The next hoop is a bit trickier, and as you swing, you miss the hoop. Your ball veers off to the side.

“Ah, better luck next time.” Marcus smiles kindly at you as he lines up for his shot.

Lucius is next, and he manages to both make the shot and knock your ball closer to the hoop. Just watching him do anything remotely physical is an experience, because it reminds you of this morning. To watch his shoulders and back muscles ripple through the fabric of his sweater as he swings. As Narcissa lines up her shot, he shoots you a subtle wink. You flush, looking away.

What had gotten into him? Was he… was he actually flirting with you?

Narcissa puts her foot on her ball, swinging the mallet hard so that it sends your ball flying even further from the intended hoop.

“Ah.” Lucius says, sighing. “Would you like me to show you the best way to get out of this position, Estella?”

You nod, meeting his eyes in curiosity. He nods in the direction of the ball, which is now a good five or six yards away from the hoop.

“Come.” He says softly.

When he says it like _that_...

He holds his mallet against his shoulder as he points and explains the best way to move towards the hoops and get back into the game. But you can hardly focus, eyes on his lips. It’s so damn attractive to hear him talk about the game like this. He’s clearly passionate about any type of sport or challenge. It reminds you of a time you’d overheard him talking about quidditch to his friends back in school. A fierce, competitive in his eyes.

He tilts his head, brows furrowing as he looks down at you. Oops. Had he asked you something?

A smirk plays upon his lips as he steps closer and places his hand on your hip. Abruptly, he spins you away from him, towards the game. His foot nudges yours apart. For just a moment, his hips press into you from behind.

“You’ll make a steadier shot with a wider stance like this.” He says, loud enough for Marcus and Narcissa to hear, before softly adding. “You and your distracting little dresses, Miss Hyde.” He tuts, fingertips lingering on your hip before he steps back. “You know... _one_ of us needs to be able to focus if we’re going to win.”

His tone is teasing, but you’re short of a witty comeback. You feel warmth in your cheeks. What a daring bastard, flirting when his fiance was just yards away.

“Though tonight perhaps, if you’ve changed your mind…” He walks around you slowly, like a predator. His eyes travel over your figure. “You can distract me however you wish. In fact, I’d welcome it. All you have to say is-”

“In your dreams, Malfoy.” You snap, smacking the ball hard with your mallet. It knocks exactly where he’d instructed you to send it. He looks positively smug as he walks away.

He keeps doing this. Taunting you, touching you. Driving you insane and helping you navigate the course. He has to know how your resolve slips more and more every time he guides your hips like this. He smells divine, like some spicy cologne or aftershave. Oh, if there were no one else around and if you got him to beg... The possibilities were endless. He was fit enough to handle anything you desired. That, you’re certain of.

Lucius picks up the slack for your beginner mistakes, and now it’s a pretty close game. You’re down to the last two hoops, and you’re determined to win.

Narcissa misses her shot, and it’s your turn. You knock your ball into the hoop.

Then... the opportunity presents itself and you can’t resist. You smile innocently as you saunter towards your ball and place your foot over it next to Narcissa’s. You look back at Lucius and he gives you a subtle nod. His eyes are alight with mischief, even though his face remains neutral, focused.

You ram the mallet hard, sending Narcissa’s ball across the court.

You gasp at just _how far_ it travels. Almost out of bounds, but not quite. Karma is wonderful, indeed. You glance at Lucius, who smiles, watching you with intensity. He wants to win this just as much as you do, and you’re so close to victory. You just need to make the last hoop and hit the peg.

“Oops.” You send Narcissa a sly grin, shrugging. “Beginner’s luck, I suppose.”

Marcus throws his head back, laughing as he pats a disgruntled Narcissa on the back. She mumbles something in French.

“Oh, come on. It’s just a game Cissy.” He misses his shot, sighing in defeat.

You grin, nudging Lucius impatiently for him to take his turn. “Come on. Let’s finish this.”

You fiddle with your mallet excitedly. There’s nothing like a good healthy competition. Especially when you win. Oh, how you _love_ to win.

He arches a brow at you, as cool and collected as ever, but the corners of his lips twitch upward. He takes a moment to study the setup, and lines up his shot. With a sharp swing, he makes it through the hoop and into the peg.

“Yes!” You cry, jumping excitedly. When all eyes turn to you in surprise, you clear your throat, shrugging. “Er, I mean, nice shot, Mr. Malfoy.” .

He eyes you with barely covered amusement, folding his arms across his chest.

“Now, now... don’t get excited too soon.” His admonishing look is only halfway mocking, you think. Deep down he must want to smile. You just know it. “It’s up to you now, Miss Hyde.”

When you make the winning shot, you can’t help but throw down the mallett and jump up and down in excitement.

“Yes!” You grin victoriously.

Lucius looks at you with an unreadable expression, but smiles despite himself as you nudge him with pure joy. Marcus congratulates you, and Narcissa storms off towards the manor. Marcus follows her towards the house, shrugging at you. You and Lucius are left alone, and you’re itching to jump on him and snog him in celebration, but instead you just… look at him, which is also nice. Just holding his attention is enough to give you butterflies.

He takes a measured step towards you and leans down. You think he might actually-

“Nicely done, Miss Hyde.” He says evenly, stepping around you and walking towards the Manor. House elves appear, cleaning up the game, and you shyly wait for them to take your mallet. You’re not going to just drop it on the ground like a spoiled child.

“Do keep up.” Lucius says, when you don’t follow immediately.

“Bloody bastard.” You grumble, reluctantly handing your mallet to an elf and scrambling to keep up. “Spoiled, rotten bastard.”

His eyes are dark as he whirls around at you. _Oh, he heard you? Oops._

“You _dare_ speak to me like that in front of my elves?” He shakes his head, stepping into your personal space. “Just you wait until we’re alone.” He snarls, gripping your chin and lifting it so you’re staring up at his blazing eyes. “I have several words for you myself, little _minx_ ”

Then he’s walking away again.

The sun is setting when they leave, and you say goodbye in front of the portkey. Marcus ignores your extended hand, instead leaning forward to kiss both your cheeks.

“My invitation stands.” He says in your ear, “You need only write to me, and I’ll clear my schedule.”

Your only reaction is the warm blush that covers your cheeks at his forwardness. He winks as they take the portkey.

Then you and Lucius are walking back up the steps… alone. He opens the door, eyes trailing over your figure as you walk in. Just the gesture, alone, feels like a trap.

In the grand entrance, the home feels quieter again. Lucius remains behind you. There’s a distinct tension now. For a moment, you feel like you’re being hunted. When you turn to face him, the dark look in his eyes is both promising and predatory. It pins you on the spot.

“You…” You gulp, eyes darting away from his. “You wanted to say something to me?”

“Yes,” He says, stalking towards you with a fierce look in his eyes. “ _Come here._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope each and every one of you has an amazing week! as much as we all can right now, at least. take care of yourself and stay safe <3
> 
> p.s. I've never played croquet before. don't @ me. lol


	22. Chapter 22

**You eye Lucius with pure disdain as you shake your head.** **“No.”**

He slows in his step.

“No?” He tilts his head as his dark eyes rake over you. “And why not?”

“Because.” It's lame, but you just need to buy some time before you make a mistake. Before you launch yourself at him and snog him. Dignity, remember? It doesn't matter how good he looks, looking at you like this. You shuffle backwards and he takes a bold step forward.

“I’ll come to you, then.” He shrugs.

“I-Don’t come any closer!” You hold up your hand, as if it could stop him.

He steps closer, taunting you with a smirk. “Why not?”

“I’m not snogging you.” You glare at him. “I don’t care if I’ve insulted you, you’ve been a complete bastard to me for nearly a month. Yesterday was a mistake.”

He blinks, feigning innocence, as if he hadn’t been stalking towards you with that look in his eyes. That look that told you that he wanted to pick you up, throw you over his shoulder, and carry you off to his bedroom. Or perhaps that had only been you that had imagined that exact situation.

His physical presence and prowess just did things to your brain.

“Who said anything about snogging?” His lips quirk up into a smirk.

“I did.” You snap. “And… It’s not happening!”

He takes a step closer, ignoring your protests.

You point behind him. “What’s that, a kneazle?!”

His mouth forms a hard line, eyes fixed on you. He refuses to look away, and is clearly unamused. There goes your escape plan. You sigh, relenting.

“Look, I apologize for calling you a bastard.” You say, staring straight ahead at his chest. It’s safer not to look up at those eyes. “I didn’t mean to call you that… out loud, at least. As your employee, I realize how unprofessional it was and it won’t happen again.”

He nods curtly when you look up at him.

“Estella… I can’t have you disrespecting me in front of my staff.” He tells you, with a hard stare. Then his expression softens. “That being said, you’re right. I’ve been... impolite.” He shakes his head, as if it pains him to verbalize anything akin to an apology. “As a thanks for entertaining my guests and helping me win against the Viscount, I will be helping you finish the library."

Is that what it’s about? Beating Marcus?

“No thanks.” You say without hesitation. He’s too distracting. You’ll never get anything done if he does that.

He arches an eyebrow at you. “Oh?”

“You’re only going to distract me. I prefer working alone, Lucius.”

“Very well.” He nods, expression going cold again as he steps around you. “I’ll be finishing up some work tonight. Dobby will bring you your dinner in the dining room. See you tomorrow.”

You almost sigh in relief when he leaves. Because perhaps your feelings would go away if he just _left you alone._

Dinner is quiet and lonely. Is this how Lucius eats every night? As they clear the plates away, you wonder about his life here in the Manor. It’s so quiet and almost gloomy without company. He must enjoy his solitude.

Or perhaps not, because he doesn’t leave you alone the next day.

After your quick breakfast, you pad quietly past his office and into the library. You remove your sweater and hang it on the back of a chair as you summon the ledgers and tables to sort through another section. The top floors actually seem to follow a logical pattern, and now that you have the most prominent works on the first floor, it should be a breeze. A time-consuming, but challenge-free breeze.

You glance out the window, looking to where Lucius was usually pull himself up and down on a pair of hanging metal rings or throwing tires at this hour, but he’s nowhere to be seen. He’s probably busy with work. You relax, turning to face your work again.

But now all you see is the broad chest of a bastard standing in front of you.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” He says as he looks over the top of your head and out the window. He _sounds_ innocent enough, but you know better. His blue eyes find yours with a leisurely smile, and he takes the chair you were sitting in. “So, what are we working on today?”

“ _We_ aren’t working on anything, Lucius.” You roll your eyes. “I, however, am going to be deciding where all of these books will go… which organization strategy would be most aesthetically pleasing and still functional. _Alone._ ”

He nods, watching you with an indifferent expression. “Well, don’t let me bother you.”

You narrow your eyes at him. He picks up a book from the table without looking at the cover, stubbornly holding your gaze until you finally look away first. Bastard! He could be literally anywhere else in this massive estate, and he chooses to be ten feet away from you.

You huff in annoyance, picking up the ledger and sliding on your protective lace gloves. Looking at your notes, it seems like you planned to place the black and purple bound garden encyclopedias near the painting of the flowers in this little alcove. You decide to center the stack on the top of the small shelf under the frame, arranging several ornate brass bookends on either end. Your fingertips trail over the silver embossed spines, ensuring they are in order before you mark the set off your list. Perfect.

“Hmm.” Lucius says, behind you. His tone sounds displeased.

You don’t want to take the bait. In fact you won’t. Then he hums again in the same dissatisfied tone. Slowly, you turn around to find him watching you over the top of the book in his hand.

“What is it?” You snap.

He lifts both brows, lips twitching upwards before they settle into a neutral expression.

“I’m not a fan of the placement.” He flicks his wand, sending the volumes to the bottom shelf. “ _There_ , that’s better.”

“ _Do you mind?_ ”

He nods, eyes lighting in amusement as you give him a simmering glare. “Yes, I do mind. It looks better this way.”

“Oh?” You want to slap him.

“Yes, Miss Hyde.”

“Really?” You cross your arms over your chest, “Do you often read about gardening, then, Lucius?”

He shrugs. “I could.”

You narrow your eyes, flicking your own wand. “Well you did hire me for my expertise, and I think the section looks more homely and inviting like _this._ ” You return the books to how they were originally.

“I disagree.” He changes them back to the shelf again, still holding your gaze.

You exhale sharply. Bloody bastard.

“Very well then, Mr. Malfoy. Any other requests?” You ask through gritted teeth, waiting expectantly.

He smirks, shaking his head. You return to recording the encyclopedia sets as you file them back onto the shelves. This part is pretty simple to work through. The top floors included more artwork than books, and you enjoyed looking into the past ledgers for details, learning about the artwork. Several pieces had certificates of authenticity from the artists, dating back centuries.

This is the best part of your job. The old clocks and stained glass lamps each had a story. The maps and paperweights all came from somewhere, preserved and handed down from one generation to the next. The recordkeeping is nearly flawless, and it makes your job a breeze. By noon, you’re done with several alcoves.

Lucius doesn’t follow you, but you can’t help but feel like you’re being watched. When you turn around, he’s reading the book. It’s time for lunch, so you walk past him without a word. When you return, he’s thumbing through the ledgers on the table where you were working.

“Don’t you have some new business you’re supposed to be running?" You ask, exasperated.

He looks over his shoulder, arching a brow at you. “Yes, I do…”

“So, go on then.” You shoo him away. He doesn’t move.

He shrugs. “I don’t think I will.”

“Please?”

“No.” Lucius shrugs. “As you once said, it’s in my best interest that you finish as soon as possible.”

You can’t help but think he isn’t on the same page as you at all. He’s up to something.

“Still, your help isn’t needed.” You shrug. “You’re only a distraction.”

“And so you are to me, being here in my home.” He retorts, stalking closer.

“Stop that.” You back away

“Stop what?” He asks calmly.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to devour me.” You exhale. “For the last time, I’m _working._ ”

He smirks, looking down at you. “Indeed you are. No one is stopping you.”

“No, you’re just driving me mad.”

“How so?”

“By just… standing there, looking at me like you do.”

He shrugs, sitting in one of the chairs across from you. “Better?”

You grind your jaw. “Not quite.”

“Well, it seems there’s no pleasing you.” He shrugs. “Am I not permitted to enjoy the library in my own home, Miss Hyde?”

You drop the ledger on the table and stalk towards him.

“You own nearly a hundred acres and this is the only place on your property you want to be right now?”

“So you do understand.” He tilts his head, eyeing you with amusement.

“Lucius, _please_.”

“Yes, my faithful servant? Are you finally ready to beg?”

“Go _away_.”

He doesn’t respond. He simply summons a book with a nonverbal spell and opens it. Again, you have to look away first.

So follows the next two days. Back and forth banter and his lingering. It’s irritating, but his company is actually quite nice. It doesn’t feel awkward. Sometimes you think that you feel his eyes on you, though, as you bend over, as you kneel, placing books on the lower shelf.

Occasionally, Lucius offers his ‘input’ and tells you exactly what he thinks of your organization. Otherwise, he’s just watching you.

By the third day, you’ve had enough.

“No.” You shake your head furiously as you find him in your working area once again on Thursday. “This is enough. Just stop this, will you?”

He sighs, nodding. “Very well.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

You sigh in relief.

“On one condition.”

“Oh, you insufferable b-”

“Have dinner with me tonight." He says, making it sound more like a demand than an option. "You’ve been avoiding me.”

You’ve been taking your food in your room. It’s the only peace you can get from his heated gaze. From his relentless teasing. From those full enticing lips and that bastard personality that’s… admittedly warming you up to him. You get the distinct feeling that people rarely got to see this playful, almost fun version of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy. It also occurs to you that had you been born into different circumstances, he might have even been a friend, maybe even a lover.

But that’s not how things are. It’s just not.

“We see each other all day long.” You roll your eyes. “Has anyone told you how irritating you are as an employer? No one likes a micromanager”

He shrugs. “Has anyone told you how delightful you are as an employee?” He smiles innocently.

You bite your lip to hold back the surprised smile that begins to form. He’s complimenting you? If he's trying to catch you off guard, it's working.

“What do you want?”

His eyes go darker. “I’m so glad you asked, Miss Hyde.”

Lithely, he stands from his chair, walking towards you.

“Besides _that._ ” You roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself.

“All I want… is the chance to change your mind.” He says, leaning closer. “To... give you a reason to give in to what we both want.”

His deep voice is so sensual. You physically have to force yourself to focus by stepping backwards.

You scoff. “And how would you do that? Are you suddenly going to somehow become less of a bastard? Doubtful.”

“Come to dinner tonight. You’ll see.” He shrugs, stepping around you. And then he’s gone.

Reluctantly, your curiosity leads you arrive at the dining room at seven sharp. But it’s empty. Was he only messing with you? Figures. What else did you think this would be? More irritable than ever, you turn around to leave, but then you find him standing in the doorway. He’s leaning against the wall, holding a single rose in his hand. His black shirt is open with quite a few buttons undone at the top, and his suit jacket looks like velvet.

You try not to, but end up bursting out into laughter. “What in Merlin’s dear name are you doing, Lucius?”

He holds out the rose to you. “Taking you to dinner.”

You laugh loudly. “You look like the cover of some cheesy harlequin romance novel.”

“Er…” He frowns, standing up straight. “You don’t like roses?”

“They're fine, but I prefer peonies.” You say, walking past him like you’re unimpressed. It’s difficult, but you manage not to laugh at his crestfallen look.

“Wait!” His footsteps follow yours. You sigh, turning to face him expectantly.

He holds your gaze for a long moment, then grins as he waves his wand and transforms the flower into a peony in your favorite color.

“For you.” He holds it out to you.

You sigh heavily.

“Better.” You take it from his grasp. You admire it for a moment, before arching a brow at him. “You said something about dinner?”

He holds out his hand, and you take it. To your surprise, however, he leads you away from the dining hall.

“Where are we going?”

“Patience, Miss Hyde.” He says as he takes you down the hallway. “You’ll see soon enough.”

“Are we going outside?” You guess, as you turn down the main hallway and walk towards the back of the house.

“It’s meant to be a surprise.” He says, sounding quite irritable. _Oops, did you make him grumpy? Oh well._

“We’re going outside, aren’t we?” You can’t help but delight in the way he seems visibly uncomfortable and perfectly annoyed. Just like he'd been making you feel all week.

He doesn’t answer. _No way. Is this some kind of date? Is he...?_

"Merlin’s beard. Are you... trying to woo me?”

You can't help the wicked grin that stretches across your face as his jaw grinds and his body stiffens in clear frustration.

He sighs, grip on your hand tightening as he begins to walk faster. “Just… keep up, will you?”


	23. Chapter 23

**The sky is a soft orange, fading into a deep blue as you walk together out onto the terrace.** Summer is here early, it seems, if the perfectly warm nighttime air is any indication. Lucius still seems irritated at your teasing as he leads you down the staircase to a lit pathway. You bite your tongue, holding back a remark about how you were right. That dinner _is_ outside. Because you're curious to see what it means to be wooed by a man like Lucius Malfoy.

Subtly, he laces his fingers into yours, seeming to relax a bit as he leads you through the grass towards a small clearing between the trees. The feeling of his hand wrapped around yours is enough to keep you silent, for now. It’s warm, and comforting. And then when he slows to a stop, your jaw drops as you spot what’s ahead in the clearing.

There are candles enchanted to float along the path to a modest six-person table, probably the smallest one the bastard owns. The whole area gives off a warm, soft glow with two large candelabras on the table and a chandelier floating above the table. There’s a bouquet of spring flowers at the center of the table, warm reds and deep pinks to go with the deep red of the upholstered chairs.

A crisp white tablecloth falls around the edges, and there are two place settings on either side of the table, across from one another. From here, there’s a view of the river running along the side of the property, and the back view of the estate, which you’ve never seen lit up at night like this.

It’s breathtaking, not that you’ll ever admit it to him. You’re completely dazzled by the setup and it takes a full minute before you notice Lucius looking at you with an expression you’ve never seen before.

“What?” You mutter self-consciously, and even you can hear the breathless quality to your own voice. “What is it?”

He shakes his head, smiling.

“Nothing,” He assures you, but he doesn’t look away.

Your heart flutters in response to the warm expression on his face as he releases your hand. Lucius pulls out your chair, and gestures for you to take a seat. He takes the seat across from yours and snaps his fingers twice. Dobby appears, silently presenting you both with a bottle of red wine. Dobby has a sly grin as he timidly enchants the bottle to pour itself and a fresh loaf of bread appears on the table.

“Enjoy, Miss Hyde.” Dobby tells you, smiling wider. Then he lingers, looking between the two of you.

“Er, thank you, Dobby.” You nod.

He beams, walking closer. Oh? Okay... “You are most welcome, Miss Hyde. It is my pleasure to serve my master. Master has been-”

“That’s quite enough, Dobby.” Lucius says, giving the elf a pointed look. Dobby nods, then disappears with a small pop.

 _What was that about?_ You decide against asking. Now that it’s just you two, you take the time to glance around the garden. It’s so pretty out here at night.

“So…” You break the silence. His gaze snaps to yours, blue eyes luring you into a trance. Great. Now you don’t know where you’re going with this sentence. “This is nice.”

Lucius just… looks at you. Those mesmerizing blue eyes hold yours captive for a long moment, almost as if he’s deciding if you’re being sincere or not.

“I’m glad that you like it.” He responds, finally.

“The candles are nice.” You add, “I like the candles.”

 _I like the candles_ Ugh! You want to bang your head on the table, but instead you decide to take a sip of the wine.

It’s delicious. Maybe even the best you’ve ever had. You take another long sip, gulping it down to calm your nerves. You never found yourself nervous on dates. Even walking over here, you felt in control of the situation, but now? Looking into his eyes underneath the night sky, surrounded by candles? Come _on._ You’re in way over your head.

Lucius’s eyes light up in silent mischief as he watches you.

“And the wine? Is it… _nice_?” He asks innocently, as he tears off a piece of bread from the loaf on the table.

“Mhm.” You nod, gesturing to the record player. “And this song, too. It’s so good. I’m a big fan of this group.”

You often listened to this kind of music when you wanted to wind down for the night. Relax. It’s soft and soothing.

He nods in response, silently pleased with himself. You can just tell. Just by the look in his eyes. He takes a sip of wine. Bloody relaxed bastard. Meanwhile, you’re as nervous as can be. He’s really pulling out all the stops tonight, and something tells you he’s going to make it hard not to give in. You have to stay strong.

“It is a great record.” He agrees, leaning back in his chair. His body language is open, and damn him for looking so good in suits. “A _nice_ one, even.”

“Yes, it is. It’s very nice.” You say absentmindedly before you take another long sip from your glass. Then another when you realize he had been teasing you. You shoot him a glare. Bastard. He smirks, holding your gaze.

Dinner is served then, saving you from putting your foot further in your mouth. You eat, relishing in the flavors of your favorite cuisines. It’s like he read your mind or something. All the things you love to have for dinner are on the table. As you drink your wine, the glass keeps refilling itself. At some point, you’ve had at least two, maybe three glasses.

“So…” You try again. “You acquired a new company?”

“I did.”

“And how is it?”

“Its quite…” He smirks. “Nice.”

“Right.” You narrow your eyes at him. You return to your food.

The energy has shifted between you since last Saturday, and you don’t know where you stand anymore. It's not as simple as it was, you loathing him completely, and he resenting your existence. But it’s not awkward or uncomfortable, it’s just the two of you finding your footing with.. whatever this is.

“What are your plans for after you finish your assignment?” He asks you, stroking his chin.

You shrug. “I think I’d like to travel.”

He nods in response. “That sounds…”

“Don't you dare say it.” You roll your eyes.

You crack a smile, and so does he. His teasing, it’s not that awful. It doesn’t feel like an attack, only an attempt to make you smile. You don’t know what to do with that information

You fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence as you continue to eat together. He breaks the silence eventually, though, offering you a plate of something you’ve never seen before. He takes in your wary expression with a sly smile.

“Do you trust me?”

“Not particularly.” You answer easily.

“Try this. It’s not seafood, I promise... I think you’ll like it.”

You stare him down, but he’s unrelenting. “Fine.”

You take a bite and it's crunchy, cheesy, and divine. You close your eyes in pure bliss, humming in contentment. "Wow. That’s incredible.”

You help yourself to another. He smiles knowingly.

Whatever it is, it's breaded and filled with hot cheese. Perfectly unhealthy and delicious. The opposite of what you would imagine him eating, with his whole… chiseled physique situation.

You glance at the peek of skin at the top of his unbuttoned shirt. The romantic setting, the way he’s looking at you, it’s all too much. He looks so good, just sitting there in the candlelight, watching you.

It’s worthless telling yourself that you don’t want him.

“I have a question.” You blurt out, since he’s not saying anything and you’re seconds away from giving in. From declaring that he wins, and that he can take you however he likes. In fact, he could have you here and now. He’s making you weak with those eyes. It’s driving you mad.

He nods for you to speak, eyes blazing with a hunger that mirrors your own.

“How do you eat like this all the time and still look like you do?” Is your weak attempt at distraction. Small talk.

He tilts his head, regarding you with a smug curiosity. “Look like _what_ , Miss Hyde?”

“Oh, come off it.” You scoff, “Like a bloody marble sculpture or something. It’s insane.”

His eyebrows lift a fraction. “Oh?” He grins.

“Shut up.” You take another sip of wine, staring him down. It doesn’t help.

“I haven’t really said anything.” He says, shrugging. He’s so bloody _smug._

“No. You haven’t.” You shake your head at him.

“I exercise.” Is his succinct, smug _bastard_ answer.

But you already know that. That was a dead end.

“So is this how you do it?”

He tilts his head, still clearly amused. “Do what, Estella?”

Damn him and the way he says your name in that deep, sexy voice. He wants you to say it. To tell him how much you need him. He must know that you’ve had enough resisting him.

 _Dignity? Hello? Dignity are you there?_ It's just crickets.

Literally, there are crickets chirping in the grass as you wait for your inner voice to resurrect itself from wherever it’s gone and sodded off to. The record player has even run out of vinyl to play. It’s just… Silence.

Well, it looks like you’re on your own now. You don’t like the odds of you _not_ sleeping with Lucius Malfoy tonight. The chemistry between you is palpable. You know it. He knows it. The crickets on the ground know it. Hell, even Dobby seems to have caught onto it.

You’re intoxicated in more than one way, and seconds from caving first.

“You know what I mean.” You say softly. “You said you were planning on changing my mind. You clearly planned all this with that... _intention_ in mind.”

He says nothing. Just watches you, waiting patiently.

“So, is this how you get women to go to bed with you?”

His brows draw together. Phew. Dear Merlin. This is the beginning of the end. Has he truly worn you down with bloody candlelight and flowers? It’s looking like it.

He opens his mouth to speak, clearly taken aback and obviously amused by the sudden direction this conversation has taken.

“Estella…” He begins, but you cut him off.

“You woo them with a perfect romantic dinner, play the perfect music, share a bottle of the perfect wine. And then you sleep together?” You nod, answering your own question and sounding quite flustered, even to your own ears. When did he start making you so nervous. This is bad.

He stares at you for a long moment, like you’ve grown a second head. And then he just… laughs. A deep, delicious chuckle. Like he’s irritated and highly amused at something you said.

You glare at him, but he only continues to laugh. Perhaps he’s gone a bit mad, too.

“I honestly don’t know what you mean.” He sighs, holding your gaze. “Have you changed your mind, then?”

“Maybe?” You say, barely above a whisper.

Damnit.

He leans forward in his seat, watching you with dark eyes. He’s not just smug, he’s utterly victorious.

“Great.” You bob your head in a repetitive nod. “This is great.” You need to stop talking. You go to take a sip.

When did your wine glass empty? You pull it from your lips, frowning. Oh dear. You set it back down, pushing it away. Maybe you’ve had enough.

“Estella?” He smirks, drawing your name out slowly to get your attention.

“Yes?” You bite your lip.

“Are you alright?” He tilts his head at you. Smug as ever.

“Perfect.” You snap. “That’s what’s so irritating. This is actually... nice.”

“Ah. There’s that word again. ” He grins, resting his chin on his hand as he watches you fume silently. _So funny._ Ugh, it actually is funny. Bastard.

“I just realized... it’s essentially a business transaction to you.” You continue in disbelief, mostly at yourself, “You’re a professional businessman. Businessmen are experts at wooing. I was doomed from the start.”

“I suppose you could say that.” He offers. His eyes dance with silent mirth.

“Wonderful.” You nod, laughing in self derision. “So what are you? Some kind of _expert_ woo-er?”

“A woo-er?” He smirks.

“Let’s get to the point.” You continue, not to be distracted. “What’s the big selling point, from a business perspective? What’s your closing move?”

“For business, or…?” He’s having far too much fun, smirking at you like this.

“No for…” You give him a pointed look. “ _Wooing_.”

“Ah.” He nods. His eyes study yours for a moment. He seems to be debating on whether or not to answer you. “Do you really want to know?”

“Mhm.”

He sighs heavily. “It’s not something I can tell you, I’m afraid.” He offers a mock apologetic smile. But he doesn’t look sorry at all.

You want to leave it alone, but the wine has made you unexpectedly courageous.

“Sorry, why not?”

“I _won’t_ tell you.” He says. “Besides, I have something else planned for you.”

“I don’t get the big closing move?” You can’t help but pout in indignation. “Why not?”

“Because... I planned something else for you.” He repeats impatiently, looking quite amused.

“Is it because I’m not a pureblood?” You ask sadly.

He sighs as he stands, depositing his napkin on his now empty plate. “No. Not because of that.”

He takes several steps towards you, offering his hand. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

“Whatever it is, I’m not sleeping with you anymore.” You insist, taking his hand. He pulls you back towards the Manor.

“We’ll see about that, Miss Hyde.” He shrugs, looking smug as a bastard can be. “I am, after all, an _expert_ woo-er.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. "That remains to be seen."


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no, there's no smut in this chapter. yes there WILL be smut. 
> 
> (but not yet. patience, dears. it will be worth it *sips tea, cackling in author as I look over my outline at the chapter number the smut will be in.*)
> 
> if it's any assurance, I'm quite a stubborn bastard myself and won't let myself work on anything else until this one's wrapped up. Also, I always give my characters a happy ending. The world sucks too much right now to make sad-ending fan fiction. this has been my ted talk. enjoy!!!
> 
> I picture this song in a certain scene below, but anything by vitamin string quartet works. enjoy!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Whl5KLQzO3k

**“Lucius?” You ask, gazing in mild confusion at the transformed, newly rearranged terrace.** There’s a fireplace roaring with a warm crackling fire. Two reclining lounge chairs. And… a telescope? “What... is this?”

“I was thinking, well… ” He rubs the back of his neck. “We had astronomy together for four years. We never spoke to each other then, of course but I remember you in that class. Always answering all the questions... Insufferable, even then." He glances away from your narrowed eyes, clearing his throat. "Anyway... The other day in the library, I learned that your name actually means _star_ , and I thought, er, I thought we could look at the stars together? There’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight. In about-” He glances at his wristwatch. “Thirty minutes.”

He rubs his hands together, exhaling slowly when he finishes. He looks, shy? Almost, nervous, even...

And suddenly, you’re somehow even more attracted to him.

You’re speechless. You nod dumbly, glancing again at the ornate brass telescope. It’s very fancy looking, and probably very old. And out here in the countryside, the view of the stars is crystal clear. If the dinner setup was romantic, this is… especially sweet. A chance to sit and just be with each other and the vast starry sky. It’s intimate. Perfect.

No one’s ever done anything like this for you.

He scratches at his chin. “So... what do you think?”

“This is so...”

“Nice?” He finishes, giving you an innocent smile that twists into a smug grin.

You exhale, still thinking about the fact that he admitted to knowing you existed before seventh year. “I always liked going to the stargazing nights in the Astronomy tower, but it was always so cold. In the city, you can’t really see the stars. I didn’t know how much I missed it. Really, this _is_ nice...”

“But?” He looks at you, seeing straight through you. He doesn’t look offended, just curious.

“I would really like to see your big move.” You respond, straight-to-business.

He exhales, laughing. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Come on, I can handle it.” You say, stepping closer.

“No.” He says, softly. “Really, I don’t think that we should. It’s…” He trails off, looking at the light of the fireplace.

“ _Please?_ ” You look up at him through your lashes, hand on his arm as you plead with him.

His gaze locks on yours, then, eyes going hooded.

“Estella...” He shakes his head.

You huff, crossing your arms. “Lucius…”

“No.” He repeats, firmly, but then he starts walking away.

“Is it inside or outside?” You ask with an innocent smile.

He sighs, heavily, looking up at the sky. Then he heads towards the doors that lead inside. You follow him, eagerly.

“The West Wing!” You gasp. “Is it in the West Wing? Am I right?”

He pauses, glancing at you with mild irritation and subtle amusement.

“You’re notoriously difficult to surprise, do you know that?” He doesn’t seem all that mad about it, though, as he holds the door open for you.

You cover your mouth with both hands. “I got it right on the first guess?!”

“Yes.” He admits reluctantly, shaking his head. “Now, come on.”

Then your fingers are laced together again. You flush, feeling sparks of warmth where your skin meets his.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to do this.” He declares in exasperation, mostly to himself, as he leads you into the West Wing.

You laugh, giddy with anticipation for whatever his big move is, as you keep up with his fast-paced walking. He seems eager to get this over with, but you? You’re ecstatic he agreed to it at all. Maybe he’s giving in a bit, too. Maybe this will be a mutually beneficial compromise… Or maybe you’re just going to end up with your heart broken.

“Come on, it will be fun. Play along.” You say, nudging him playfully, as you try to distract yourself from your nagging thoughts. “Let’s say… You just met me at some fancy pureblood affair. A horse race, a fundraiser, something like that, I don’t know, wherever you meet women.”

“A horse race?” He asks, shooting you a bewildered look. “Why on earth would I be at a horse race?”

“Muggle thing.” You wave it off, “The wealthy muggles go to them to gamble, find other wealthy folks to procreate with, all that nonsense-” You cut yourself off at his silently amused smile. “Forget about it. Not important. Anyway, so you see me from across the room-”

“And you’re giving me _the look_.” He offers.

You pause, sufficiently sidetracked “The look? What’s ‘the look?’”

“The look.” He looks down at you, smiling as he shakes his head. “Now, now. Don’t pretend you don’t know _the look_ , Miss Hyde.” He tuts.

“Well, I don’t.” You shrug pointedly.

“Sure you do.” He steps closer, way closer, right into your personal space. “It’s the look you’ve been giving me all night long, Estella.”

He leans down, and his intentions to claim your lips are clear. But there’s no way you're missing out on this supposed big move.

“I have not.” You insist, pulling away just before he can kiss you. You can’t help but giggle at his irritated face. “Anyway, so _apparently_ I give you some kind of look that’s a clear signal I want to go home with you and be properly ravished in your bed. You approach me-”

“Is that what _the look_ means to you?” He gives you a wolfish grin, stalking closer. You respond by backing away just as fast. “I had no idea. In that case...”

“Shut up.” You snort, smacking him playfully as he pins you against the wall. “I’m getting this big move, Lucius, don’t ruin it for me.”

You give him a warning look, and he steps back with his hands up, smiling despite himself. You take a deep, steadying breath. “So you approach me-”

“And I tell you how beautiful you are, and that I couldn’t stop looking at you all evening long.” He looks into your eyes with emotion, clearly getting into character.

“Mhm.” You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Right. Some charming line, I’m sure. Something that is entirely about my looks and nothing to do with my value as a person. Not that i’m-”

“Intelligent, or hard-working. Defiant. Impossible. Occasionally quite delightful. Infuriating, yet inexplicably fascinating. ”

Your breath hitches for a moment, before you realize he’s just playing along.

“Right.” You agree, grinning at what is impressive acting, coming from his bastard self. “Good one. I would be swooning, I'm sure.... And so I come home with you. We have the wine, the dinner, so on and so forth... And then...”

He sighs heavily, looking down at you with an unreadable expression that makes your heart flutter.

“And I then make my move?” He says after a long moment, clearing his throat.

“Yes.” You nod with determination, “Your big move. The closer. Now... go ahead. Give me your best.”

He slows his steps, coming to a stop in front of an ornate double door.

“Accio cane.” He mutters, holding up his wand.

“Not _exactly_ what I had in mind… I never took you for a man with those kinds of kinks, Lucius.” You mutter under your breath.

He raises both brows at you, as a black cane flies into his grasp. “I beg your pardon?” His voice is gruff.

“Nothing!” You clear your throat. “Nevermind!”

He arches a full brow at you. “Do you want the big move or not, Miss Hyde?”

“Yes, yes. Get on with it already!” Before you can say anything else.

“Very well… If you’ll join me, Miss Hyde.” He says with the distinct air of an uppity nobleman.

You beam. This was already so good. He stands tall, offering you the crook of his elbow. You slip your hand demurely around his bicep and he pounds the cane into the floor twice.

“This was my father’s cane.” He offers in explanation as you wait for something to happen. “It controls several very strong enchantments in the rooms around the manor.”

Then the double doors open, and you’re greeted with… darkness. Astounding, anticlimactic darkness. Though, you can see from the reflective surface of the shiny floors that you’re walking on an elaborately patterned marble floor as you enter.

“Hang on, where are we-”

“Patience.” He says, softly, but in the same haughty tone as before.

You sigh, following him into the center of the dark room. He turns you to face him, one of his hands goes to your waist, and he pulls you closer.

Then you hear the sharp double-click of the cane pounding to the floor again. And then, slowly the room comes alive. A massive chandelier lights with a hundred different lights. Elaborate wall sconces and gilded filigree. Looking up, you see the painted ceiling of the most exquisite ballroom you’ve ever seen. The only ballroom you’ve ever seen, other than the one at Hogwarts. But even if you’d seen a hundred, you know this one was something special.

The room is filled with gold accents and mirrored walls, reflecting the warm light everywhere. Your jaw drops as you pull away from him, head tilted back as you take it all in. This is true, exquisite extravagance.

“It’s… magnificent.” You whisper.

He nods, watching you with an unreadable expression. “It was my mother’s favorite room.”

“I can see why. Wow...” You grin, looking up at him. “So what now?”

He clears his throat, putting on the dignified, somewhat nasally voice again. “As you now know, this home has been around for centuries…”

You nod, hanging on to every delightful word of his exaggerated posh accent. It’s like you’re at a play or something. This is unexpectedly… fun, for such an uptight bastard.

“My ancestor, the man who added this very ballroom to the home--did so for one reason, and one reason only.”

“What was it?” You ask, good-naturedly.

“He built it so that he could hold a ball, in order to invite a young woman he fancied himself in love with. All this exists, so he could be introduced to her, and properly ask for her hand in marriage.”

“And did he?” You whisper, enraptured in the story.

Lucius nods. “For him, it was love at first sight. He saw her from afar, and had to have her as his” Lucius waves it off. “It’s a charming story, indeed… but that’s not what you want.”

“Well, go on, then,” You say, grinning. “Lay it on me.”

Lucius sighs, evidently still reluctant. But his eyes are lit up with that unreadable expression as he studies you.

“The big move is…” He exhales. “I tell her the truth. That I attribute my life, in all its wonderful extravagance, to that man who built this ballroom with one true love in mind. A brave man who walked across this very room, and asked the woman he fancied to dance. My entire family, everything we own, is due to those two, sharing a single dance on that evening, centuries ago...” He pauses, eyes searching yours. “I tell them that… And then I ask them to dance with me. Just us, in this ballroom together.”

“You just... dance with them?” You ask incredulously, “And then that’s it?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes or answer you. He stares at the ground, deep in thought.

You scoff, halfway between amused and disgusted. “You must be quite the dancer.”

“Would you like to find out?” He holds out his hand, an arrogant smile back on his face.

“I can’t.” You laugh, shaking your head. Your eyes are fixed on his outstretched hand. “I don’t know any ballroom dances.”

“I do.” He shrugs, taking your hand. “I’ll lead.”

“There’s no music.” You point out as he pulls you further into the ballroom.

Merlin, you have… butterflies.

He flicks his wand, sends the cane to the wall, hanging it on a hook. It opens a concealed cabinet. An array of string instruments float out as his wand flicks and flourishes, and then they begin to play on their own.

“Oh, no. No way.” You can’t help the laughter, now. “You just _happen to have_ a string quartet on hand for a moment like this? Of course you do.”

He smiles victoriously at you as you erupt into another fit of laughter. He doesn’t budge, just watching you with that smile.

“The ladies must swoon.” You sigh.

He shrugs.

You sigh, “Well, come on, then. Woo me.”

“Very well.” He grins. “If you insist.”

He tugs you towards him, and your breath hitches as his hand holds your waist to his body. The other holds your hand up, and you sense his foot stepping forwards. You follow with a step backwards, but stumble as he leads you in a slow circle. You glance down at your feet, but then his hand leaves yours to lift your chin.

“Just keep your eyes on me.” He instructs softly. Then he moves again. And this time you fall in step. “There. Very good.”

You feel your mouth dry as he spins you around, then you join hands again. It’s not a waltz, but just being here in this room is magical. He turns and leads you across the floor in confident steps. All the while, he looks right at you. You can’t hide from it in here, the way you feel.

You don’t know how much time passes as you dance. Just you two in this massive ballroom with the soft music echoing through the otherwise empty hall. He lifts you, spinning you around, before setting you down again. His hands on your waist send a shiver through you. His eyes are hooded as he looks down at you.

Then, without warning he slows his steps, shaking his head. He comes to a brief stop and pulls you tighter.

“Can I tell you the truth?” His voice is gruff, demanding.

You nod, breathless. He begins to move again, and you follow his lead.

“This isn’t... some big move that I do.” He admits, eyes holding yours with an intensity and vulnerability you’re not used to seeing. He dips you low, then pulls back up. “Call me a bastard if you must, Miss Hyde, but... I just wanted to dance with you.”

“But…” You stumble the next steps and the grip on your waist tightens, steadying you. “You said…”

“No.” He shakes his head fiercely. “You assumed and I went along with it. I don’t need any special move to get women to go to bed with me. They typically come to me all on their own.”

His words should disgust you, but the way he says them… His deep voice resounding in your ears like some hazy enchantment. Your eyes drop to his lips.

“Oh… really?” You arch an eyebrow at him.

“Really.” He nods, eyes going hooded. “But then you came into my life, and...”

It occurs to you that you aren’t even dancing anymore. Your arms are around his neck, and your body is pressed to his, and his lips are just a breath from yours.

He continues. “For you, I can say...”

You nod, “Go on… say it.”

He leans down, and you feel your eyes falling shut. You’re meeting him halfway, and your lips brush. Immediately, you feel that warmth blossom in your chest at the feeling of his lips on yours. He breathes, pulling back just a fraction. “Estella, I-”

Pop!

In unison, you jerk your heads away to discover that you’re no longer alone in the ballroom.

“Master requested that I…” Dobby audibly gulps, eyes darting away from you two as he continues. “That is, that Dobby tell Master when the meteor shower was to begin, sir. That you were not to miss it for any… reason.”

He winces, disapparating away immediately.

You breathe hard, looking up at Lucius. At his parted lips. You blink, waiting for him to continue. To just say it. To pick up where he left off… but he doesn’t. He rubs the back of his head, looking conflicted, frustrated… and he steps back.

Then the moment, you can clearly tell, has passed. He’s not going to say it.

And now _you’re not going to either._

“Let’s go, then.” You snap, after a long silent moment. “There are some big falling rocks to look at, right?”

He nods, looking every bit as disappointed as you feel. “Right.”

He offers you his arm.

You reapparate on the terrace. Lucius steadies you, and you push his hands off of you. You each recline on one of the chairs, staring up at the night sky. He explains the meteor shower, and you listen to his voice as you watch the small bursts of light shoot across the sky. Your heartbeat eventually settles down, and you finally feel calm again in the fresh air.

He was so close to begging you. Even after you had admitted at dinner that he had successfully seduced you, he was going to say it.

After a while, you’re not even watching the stars as he talks about the planets you can see with the naked eye at this time of year, the constellations... but you’re just looking at him.

After several long minutes of your silence, he looks at you and it feels like he really sees you, for once. He narrows his eyes, using his wand to pull your chair closer to his.

“Come here.”

He silently transfigures them together and pulls you towards him, without a word. You don’t bother resisting. You’re past resisting. So you lay there and together you watch the sky..

There’s a moment of clarity here, feeling the warmth of his body next to yours.

This is it. He’s a bastard, but he’s _it_ for you. The only man you’ve ever had stuck in your head, for as long as you can remember.

If he thinks this is a game, just a challenge to get you into bed with him… you realize that you need to talk with him about how you feel.

You need to speak the words. To tell him that he needs to tread carefully with you. Because despite everything you know about Lucius, everything he's said and done, you’re falling for him. Despite his bastard-like tendencies, he has a hold on you. And he has the potential to break your heart.

To you, this is no longer about sleeping with him, a game of seeing who surrenders first. There’s a connection here between the two of you that electrifies you. It will haunt you for the rest of your days if he marries another woman. And you just need to say it. So it’s clear.

You need to tell him that you have feelings for him, and you’re starting to suspect he does too. Or maybe he doesn’t, but he still shouldn’t marry someone he doesn’t love. He deserves to feel like you do when you’re around him, even if all he feels for you in return is lust.

You just want him to know that he deserves to be happy. Not conflictingly happy, like the way he makes you feel, holding you, whispering about the stars to you while he’s engaged to be married to someone else. Kissing you when he thinks you’re nothing but a low class mudblood. Truly happy-like a love you’ve never seen with your own eyes, but read about in countless books.

You just need to say it, so he knows.

But your eyelids droop as you listen to his sleepy voice, and for the second time, you find yourself falling asleep next to Lucius Malfoy.


	25. Chapter 25

**It’s serene waking up in the presence of Lucius again.** This time, as your sleepy haze recedes and the darkness of your eyelids gives way to the sun rising over the endless private estate, it’s just so… _peaceful._ The misty morning dew leaves the bright green grass shiny and spring flowers swaying with filtered sunlight. The soft chirps of birds fluttering in the sky and the rustle of the soft breeze through the leaves of the trees is tranquil and soothing.

You’re facing Lucius, but he’s still fast asleep. His stern features are softer like this. The tension and pinched expression you've come to know, is replaced with an almost angelic calmness.You debate on whether or not to wake him as you stretch and enjoy the sunrise. Its very quiet for a long while. Then, there are a series of pops and you catch sight of the house-elves wandering about the garden, workers buzzing around before anyone in the house would normally be awake

Most, but not all, send curious glances in your direction. They point and gesture to their sleeping master, chattering excitedly.

Of course, even though you’re fully dressed, Lucius’s suit jacket lying over you like a blanket, this situation looks rather compromising. Also, you would wager that the man has never missed a workout or slept in during the four weeks you’ve been here, perhaps _ever_. You are torn between letting him sleep, and waking him up to save him the indignity of being seen with you, a mudblood, by his elves.

“Lucius…” You say his name sofly, then a little louder as you nudge him. “Lucius.”

He inhales deeply, rolling on his back, away from your nudging. “Hmph.”

“ _Lucius_.” You try, a bit louder.

He groans softly. “Shhh.” he puts a finger up to your lips.

“Oh, is that how it’s going to be?” You laugh. “Lucius. _Luci-us._.... Luci?”

You poke him repeatedly as you say his name louder and louder..

He peeps an eye open in irritation. “No.”

“I like the sound of that, actually. _Luci_.” You smirk. “Wake up, Luci-poo.”

He rolls on top of you in a flash, eyes blazing. “Do not call me that.”

“Call you what,” You begin, grinning, “ _Luci_?”

“Estella.” He growls in warning.

“Yes…-”

“- _Don’t._ -”

“-Luci?” You finish, erupting in laughter.

He huffs in irritation, “Stop that.”

“Stop what, …. Luci?”

His eyes narrow, “I won’t say it again.”

“I’m so scared, oooh-”

And then his lips are on yours, cutting off your laughter and effectively stealing your breath away. You sigh, leaning back as he presses you into the chair. Your hands reach up to tangle themselves in his hair and pull him closer.

Kissing Lucius, it's like... breathing after holding your breath underwater for so long. It’s a rush to your head, making you slightly dizzy. Your body comes alive, feeling his hand slide up your jaw, keeping your lips on his when you start to pull away. Then he’s kissing along your cheek, down your neck, biting the soft skin where your neck meets your shoulder…

“Mmm, _Luci_ …” You whisper, breathless.

“I said,” He stiffens, lifting his face to give you a stern look. “ _Don’t_ call me that.”

You smile, looking up at him as you twirl a lock of his satin platinum hair around your finger.

“Call you what, Luci?” You smirk.

He kisses you hard, then, using your surprised gasp to slip his tongue into your mouth. You can’t help but lay back and let his tongue dance with yours. He bites your lower lip, before kissing down the other side of your neck. His lips brush against your collarbone, down your chest… just over the swell of your breast.

“As much as I enjoy your methods of silencing me…” You tell him, slightly breathless, as you hold him back from continuing with a hand on his shoulder. “I was _trying_ to tell you that we have an audience.”

You gesture to the ten or so elves scattered along the scrubs and trees, trimming and gardening. They all turn away, pretending as if they hadn’t been staring only moments ago.

“Right.” Lucius says, face stern again as he pulls back and stands. He offers you a hand. “We can always continue this elsewhere. Come on.”

Right. Of course he wants to pursue the physical aspect of… whatever this is.. You had both made that much clear. But did he _feel_ like you did? Did he know sparks you felt when he kissed you like he did? You take his hand, but don’t meet his gaze as he helps you stand.

“Actually,” You say, staring at your feet. “I think we should talk before... any of that.”

He pulls you closer, hands at your waist. “Talk to me, then.” He says, gruffly. Merlin, his morning voice is a distraction. Did you need to talk, truly?

Yes, you did. You sigh, realizing your inner voice of dignity is still around, lurking in the shadows. Of all the times to resurface…

You study his soft gaze for a long, frustrated moment. “It’s about what you were going to say to me last night.”

He nods, considering your words. “Very well.”

If you didn’t know the man before you was the stern, cold, calculative Lucius Malfoy, you might have thought you’d seen a blush on the tips of his ears.

 _Maybe… did he... did he also feel the same?_ You steel your nerves, then continue.

“And also, I have something I want to say to you.”

He tilts his head, looking you up and down with a sleepy smile. “Okay.” He glances around the garden, before finding your eyes again. “Let’s make time to talk properly, then. We’ll talk after lunch, shall we? I have a meeting this morning that I need to prepare for.”

“Okay.” You agree, smiling timidly.

Your gut is twisting with nervous energy, as you think about what you want to say. For now, all you can do is wait.

As you walk towards the double door entrance, he pulls you back and kisses you again. This time it’s slow, unhurried. Sweet. It melts you, making you feel weak in his arms. It leaves your swollen lips wanting more when you part.

Lucius opens the door for you and beckons you to enter first. Inside, he looks at you with an unreadable expression, and then a roguish grin.

“Until later, my faithful servant.” He says with a wink.

You roll your eyes in response, “Until later, Luci.”

Then you walk your separate way towards the East wing before he can do anything about it.

As you fast-walk down the hallway, you feel entirely giddy. Merlin, you’re in trouble.

Time seems to drag as you anticipate your talk with Lucius. Still, you busy yourself shelving and archiving to occupy your mind. It seems that Lucius’s irritating presence was an excellent motivator, because in less than a week, you finished the second floor. There’s only two sections left in the entire library. They’re on the top floor, divided by a long walkway with tall windows and a breathtaking view of the grounds.

Your next task is to create a space on the third floor for the shipment of French novels that arrived in the morning. You finish cataloging the French novels by 11 A.M. Then you’re restless and you have only your nerves to keep you company.

Just before lunch, you find that one of the bookshelves on the third floor is a bit off as you attempt to remove the volumes from the shelf. You try lifting them by wand, and they don’t budge. Then you reach with your hand, and watch in disbelief as your hand goes right through them.

Imagining it’s a passage, you try to step through the bookshelf, but you are knocked backwards in a flurry of wind and dust. Heart pounding, your brush yourself off and pick yourself up. Even if you are distracted by your upcoming chat with Lucius, that was extremely foolish. There’s a ward or enchantment here that you’d never noticed before. Had it been a more antagonistic ward, it could have seriously and permanently injured you.

You need to pull yourself together. He’s only a man. It’s okay if he doesn’t reciprocate your feelings.

After only bothering with some tea for breakfast, by now you are starting to feel the effects of too much caffeine and nothing to eat. You’re jittery and lightheaded. You decide to wait to investigate the ward until after you’ve eaten and spoken to Lucius. Then you’ll have a level head.

In the hallway, you catch a glimpse of your appearance, looking a bit dusty and ruffled from the throwback of the warded shelf. You eat your lunch quickly in the kitchens, hoping to head back to your room and freshen up before your talk with Lucius.

You could hardly confess your feelings to the man looking like you’d been through a dust storm. In your room, you cast a quick spell to clean your hair and clothing, add a spritz of perfume, and after studying your appearance nervously for at least fifteen minutes, change your outfit altogether.

You opt for the black dress you wore when you discovered Lucius in the conservatory. Satisfied, you roll your shoulders back and open the door to the hallway with a flourish.

As you walk down the hallway, you spot Lucius, with his back turned to you.

“Oh, _Luci!_ ” You call out to him, smirking because you can already picture his reaction.

Even from a distance you can tell his whole body stiffens, and you’re about to burst out in laughter, until you see that he’s not alone. He steps aside, giving you a wide-eyed look before glancing back to the woman.

There’s a short, frail elderly woman standing next to him, and immediately it’s as if someone has doused you in ice water. The woman is a familiar face, though you’ve never met her before. She’s unmistakable as the queen herself. Celestia Black.

You swallow thickly, smile wiped from your face. How are you going to get out of this one? Think fast.

“Erm, my apologies Mr. Malfoy. I thought I saw my pet... kneazle…” You wince, offering the both of them a polite smile and nod.

The woman narrows her eyes at you as you approach.

“Who is this?” She asks Lucius, scowling. Her french accent is much stronger than Marcus or Narcissa’s.

“This is my archivist.” Lucius says. “I’m sure she has plenty of work to do, and a lost… _pet_ to find.” He narrows his eyes at you. His dark gaze sweeps over you from head to toe. “Come, Celestia, we best continue our-”

“Let me see you properly, girl.” She snaps, beckoning you closer. “Come here.”

You bite your tongue to hold back the snarky retort that you are hardly a little girl, and won’t be spoken to with that tone, when you see Lucius’s pleading look. You hold your head high and approach the woman, waiting for her to speak first.

“Hmmm. I don’t see what it is Marcus was particularly fussed about.” She tuts. “She is plain. Clearly not of pure blood…”

You blink, faintly offended by her remarks.

“And that vacant stare… oh, dear. What am I going to do with our poor viscount.” She finishes, shaking her head. “It’s hardly a decent match. Why he’d be good enough for my Cissy if not for you, Lucius dear.”

 _Vacant stare?_ Oh, she’s so lucky she’s frail and elderly.

You smile tightly, trying to remain calm. “He spoke of me?”

She sneers at you, as if wondering why you were speaking to her, before turning to look at Lucius. “And my dear granddaughter doesn’t seem to care for her, either. You must be rid of her before Narcissa is to arrive.”

Lucius nods his agreement. “Very well, Celestia. Shall we finish our conversation in my office? I’ll have an elf fetch us some tea.”

She grumbles something under her breath that sounds vaguely like another insult, but nods as he puts his hand on her shoulder. As they pass, she stares into your soul with her beady little eyes.

“Straighten up, girl. Or you’ll never find a husband.” She says, lifting her chin in the air, though she still stands at least a foot shorter than you. “You ought to set your sights on a gentleman as fine as you can. Not all men are diamonds in the rough like my dear Lucius, though you might find a decent halfblood if you try.”

First she was insulting you, now she’s offering advice? What a strange, unpleasant woman. Is this what it was like to be pure blooded? Now you almost feel sorry for Narcissa. Almost.

“Right, thank you Madam Black.” You offer with an overly enthusiastic grin, “I’ll be sure to consider that.”

Lucius gives you a warning look, before steering the grumbling woman into his office. As the door shuts and their voices become muffled, you sigh. So much for your talk. It would simply need to wait.

Back on the third floor, you find Dobby waiting for you. He offers apologies from Lucius, that he won’t be able to meet until later. You wave him off, letting him know it’s alright and you already know.

You sigh, slumping into one of the chairs and shutting your eyes. All your nervous energy is gone, leaving you utterly exhausted. Dobby wakes you later on in the afternoon, offering you a snack while you wait for Lucius to finish.

You eye the tray of fruit warily.

“Lucius would probably behead me if I ate in his library.” You offer the elf a wry grin. “But thank you anyway.”

“It is Master Lucius who sends it, miss.”

You arch an eyebrow. It's enough food for five people. He must not know the meaning of moderation. This in no way makes up for him missing your conversation, but it is rather sweet of him to think of you. The elf seems to catch the change in your expression.

“Master Lucius is a good man, Miss Hyde. I have watched over and served him since he was a boy.”

This surprises you. You bite your lip, recalling something Dobby told you when you first met.

“Dobby…” You pause, wondering if he will answer truthfully. “Does Lucius treat you well? I mean… does he truly hit you?”

“Master Lucius treats me very well, much better now that Master Abraxas has passed on.” His eyes bulge impossibly out of his small face. “I should not have said that. I will need to punish myself now.”

“Does Lucius punish you?” You want a truthful answer. He might be attractive, but if his character was lacking… you couldn’t allow yourself to fall for him.

He wrings his hands nervously. “Not since he was younger.”

“When his father passed?”

Dobby nods, then starts punching himself. You call the elf’s name soothingly and grab at his wrist until he stops. As much as you’d like to pry more into Lucius’s childhood, you decide to leave the conversation be. You’re almost positive the elf will hurt himself if he reveals more than he intends to. You don’t want that. Maybe someday you can ask Lucius directly.

“Er, Dobby?” You try again. “Sorry I brought it up. Listen, can you tell me about this shelf?” You stand, walking towards the warded shelf.

Dobby finally stills. Then a mischievous grin stretches across his face.

“Would you like to see the top passageway, miss?”

You nod “Will you show me, please?”

“Master did not warn me against it,” He says, pacing. “And he did show you the first floor passage....”

“It sounds like it should be just fine then,” You say, offering an assuring nod.

Easily convinced, the elf touches the spine of a red leather bound book that seems to remain solid, then a black one, then the red again. The books ripple like a curtain, opening to reveal a passage.

Dobby turns to you. “This way, Miss.”

This passage has windows to the outdoors. It’s almost like an attic. There’s a spiral staircase leading down to the first floor and you pass it.

Then you hear some voices in the distance. You’re about to walk towards the door when Dobby comes to a sudden stop.

Dobby pauses, looking at you with wide eyes. “Er, my apologies. I am being summoned.”

“No worries, Dobby, I can find my way back just fine.” You smile in reassurance.

He wrings his hands. “Very well, miss. Dobby thanks you for your kindness.”

You nod, and he disappears.

The muffled voices draw you towards a black door. In the dusty sunlight of the attic, you can only guess which direction you’ve been walking. But the voices… one distinctly sounds like Lucius. Was this over his office? The other voice, though… It sounds nothing like Celestia. Gravelly and old. This voice is soft, with a feminine french lit. Narcissa.

Lucius barks an order at Dobby, and there is a distinct pop of the elf disapparating.

You don’t dare open the small door, for fear of being caught. Silently, you press your ear to it. As soon as you do, you wish you hadn’t.

“In conclusion, Celestia, I am... counting down the days until Narcissa joins me here at my home.” Lucius says, sounding relaxed, composed. Businesslike. “It is my greatest wish to make the transition of her arrival, her moving into my quarters, as smooth as possible. With this addition to the contract, we should _also_ be able to fulfill my father’s wish of continuing the Malfoy name. I can think of no woman better poised to be my wife, and the mother of my future children. That is why I put forth this clause. For the good of both my family and yours.”

Your heart drops.

“Oh, do sign it already, Grandmere.” Narcissa says, wistfully. “I wish for nothing other than to make my dear fiance as happy as he will make me.”

For some reason, you can’t find the strength to move away. You’re devastated and enraptured by this feeling. It’s betrayal, jealousy, and hopelessness. Still, you listen on, hoping for some sign he’s pretending or faking it.

“Are you certain, dear?” Celestia asks in her gravelly voice.

“Yes.” Narcissa replies without hesitation.

There’s scratching of quill on parchment.

Lucius claps his hands, “Very well, that concludes all I needed to clarify and amend in advance. Thank you for seeing me on short notice, Celestia.”

“It is my pleasure.” Celestia says warmly, “See you soon, Lucius dear. “ There’s a beat of silence in which you can imagine Lucius’s stoic nod. “Narcissa, are you coming with me?”

“You go ahead, grandmere, I’ll just be a few more moments.”

You hear the distinct sound of the floo network, and then a giggle. Tentatively, you crack open the door, with the curiosity now entirely unbearable. The door is high up in the ceiling of the office, looking down at his desk. It gives you a perfect view of what happens next.

Her back is to you, but you watch in gut-wrenching agony as Narcissa saunters over and seats herself in Lucius’s lap and he places his hands on her hips to steady her. His expression is unreadable, but he hardly pushes her away.

“Oh, Lucius,” Narcissa says softly, “I’m so glad we’re going to be married. I had no idea how interested you were in…” She whispers in his ear, and you can’t hear a thing.

You know you should look away, but you can’t. You need to see this, so you can squash any lingering feelings for him..

She leans down, kissing Lucius softly, before pulling back. “You’re coming to dinner, then?”

He nods, saying nothing more.

Narcissa grins, pecking him on the lips again. “See you soon, darling.”

It feels like the wind is knocked out of you as you watch her kiss him again, and it looks like... _he kisses her back._

And then she leaves.

You close the door quietly. As you walk down the hallway in stunned silence, you find yourself wiping away a hot tear that slides down your cheek unexpectedly. _No. You won’t cry over Lucius Malfoy. He isn’t worth your tears._

You walk numbly back through the bookcase, and summon your working tables.

It’s time to finish this. It’s time to leave this lonely place and never return. What you had to say, it doesn’t matter anymore. Those warm and fuzzy feelings from earlier? They’re gone.

You take a deep breath, and crack open the last ledger. You can cry later. For now, there’s work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buckle up for the angst, my friends. 🤠. 
> 
> hope you guys are eating well, sleeping well, and feeling well <333 take care of yourself. things are crazy right now for a lot of us. 
> 
> p.s. special thank you to @alma_rohe for being amazing and always finding my spelling and grammar errors, and for the support and love every chapter. I am eternally grateful!!!
> 
> p.p.s. @HandsOffMyLoki I threw in some 'nickname annoyance' just for you lol
> 
> also since the smut seems to be a hot topic, I just want to say that when the time comes, (still a bit away 🤣). I will be adding a page break for anyone that'd like to skip it, as I have only written explicit smut before and though I will dial it down a bit for this fic since it's rated M, I don't want anyone to feel like they _have_ to read it. 
> 
> as always, my update schedule is in my profile, along with my email if you have comments, questions, requests, etc.


	26. Chapter 26

**Lucius enjoyed control in most, if not all things. So he didn’t particularly enjoy having his hands tied, especially not with a legally binding contract.**

See, if he had the _choice_ , he would keep you around and continue to see where this was going. But of all the luxuries in the world, the only one he currently _didn’t_ have was the choice of who to be with. And he certainly didn’t have the luxury of time, either.

Just four weeks were left until the wedding.

It was all up in the air right now. This would be a time of swift decision making and corrective action. His father had warned him against weakness. He had warned Lucius about cracks in his armor. _You_ were a crack in his armor, and thus, he was coming undone.

But he was working on it.

Propriety be damned. He _would_ have you. He’d long ago dispensed with the idea that he could ever get you out of his system. You were insidious. You were his undoing. And yet, seeing his life, his _home_ , through your eyes... he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of uncovering new things about you. This was exactly how it should be. In a perfect world where Lucius had more than just the illusion of control over his life, he would wake up next to you just like this, every morning.

Dobby had been irritatingly accurate when he off-handedly mentioned to Lucius that this was the most he’d seen his master smile in years. Of course, Lucius would never agree with the elf, his over-eager companion for far too many years. It had been enough to hear it nonstop while he planned the dinner with the elf. If Dobby continued to badger Lucius to gush over his feelings like some kind of teenage schoolgirl, Lucius might finally throw the elf a piece of clothing to get rid of him.

But then he’d have to train another elf to make his tea just so, to pick up on his nonverbal cues… It would be too tiring.

The tiny, ugly thing was right, anyway. You were in Lucius’s head, now.

Those lips and those soft little moans you made when he kissed along your neck were reminders of what he would sorely miss. That ridiculous nickname that no one in their right mind would _dare_ call him... It’s like you had been put on this earth with the sole purpose of torturing him.

And still, here you were, ready to lay all the cards on the table and call this what it was. But that would simply have to wait. He had important business to attend to first.

“Until later, my faithful servant.” Lucius winked at you, breathless and looking at him like _that_. Like you craved him as much as he craved you.

After lunch.

He’d see you later.

After.

Lunch.

He’d probably be counting down the minutes. That’s how insane you’d made him at this point.

“Until later,” You said, rolling your eyes as you headed in the opposite direction. “ _Luci._ ”

Then you gave him that sly grin that stirred something primal inside of him, before practically running away.

Lucius watched your figure retreat with narrowed eyes. As much as he would have enjoyed going after you, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder and showing you exactly what your teasing _did to him_... As tempting as it would be to skip the meeting entirely and spend the rest of the day with you in his bed, begging him--and you _would_ beg him, eventually… He needed to do this.

Lucius was a man who always thought ahead, after all. Discipline had always been the key to his success. He planned for the future. He considered every possible outcome.

Remembering this, he tore his gaze away from you and forced himself to walk to the West wing. After a long run and a cold shower, he dressed for his meeting, tense as ever.

 _Everything_ rested on the outcome of this meeting. His future, the reputation of the Malfoy family name, and the outcome of the conversation you would likely have with him later this afternoon. It all depended on _this meeting._ The contract negotiation with Celestia Black.

Lucius had kept himself busy in the Library all week, poring through endless legal literature in preparation for today’s meeting. It had been an added bonus to have you in his line of sight, so serious and focused as you arranged and rearranged countless volumes of encyclopedias. Who needed a window view worth millions or centuries-old artwork when there was _you_ , back arching low as you sat on your heels and leaned forward to shelve each book by hand.

A perfectionist, just like him.

If Lucius did have a kink, it was you in those black dresses, organizing literature. Even better than merely watching you work, was the opportunity to tease you mercilessly, messing up your work and flustering you at every chance he could.

Then there was last night.

He got a glimpse into what life could be like if he had the freedom to see you, to keep getting to know you. If he wasn’t a hopeless case and an entirely unrecognizable man already, last night you’d stirred something inside of him he’d never felt before.

He’d even almost said it. But he was getting ahead of himself. No. First, he’d need to get his affairs in order.

Then he’d have you.

Lucius resisted the urge for the umpteenth time this hour, to pinch the bridge of his nose or smack his head against the table. He’d give anything to be out of this meeting and wherever you were in that bloody dress. Fucking hell.

At this point, he was certain you dressed to drive him insane. Then there was that pesky nickname. He couldn’t have it stick, _it wouldn’t do._ He would not be called that name. Not now, not ever.

Oh, how you got under his skin so easily.

He’d get you back for that, but not now. Now he was right here in his office, willing himself not to snap. Willing himself _patience._

Celestia Black was many things. A successful aristocrat, a wealthy noblewoman, and a cultural influence like no other. What the woman was not, was _concise_ or _to-the-point._

At the top of the list of Lucius’s pet peeves was the tendency of pure-blooded nobility to needlessly drone on and on. Perhaps some of them simply enjoyed hearing the sound of their own voice, but today he had reached his limit by the time the meeting dragged on past lunch.

So naturally, when Celestia suggested Narcissa be present for the contract changes, Lucius heartily agreed. He had hoped that Narcissa could aid him in roping the old bat in. To get her to sign the bloody contract clause and get out of his home.

Instead, however, his fiancee was only making matters worse. She asked question after question. Chatted about dinner plans, creating yet another insipid topic for Celestia to drone on about.

The longer this went on, the longer _you_ would be waiting. You in that tight black dress that was killing him. He shook his head, willing his mind to focus.

Discipline. No cracks in his armor. His composure here could very well decide his future.

He cleared his throat. Inhale. _Focus._ Exhale. It was time to steer the conversation back to the issue at hand.

“As you both know, the scandal that Andromeda-” He began.

“Don’t _say her name._ ” Celestia growled, interrupting once again.

Interruption. Another one of Lucius’s primary annoyances. Instead of engaging the woman and allowing another fruitless tangent, he decided to retain control of the situation.

“Nevertheless, as you know, her actions will have repercussions on our union” Lucius carried on as if she hadn’t spoken.

Celestia opened her mouth to speak, but Lucius wasn’t keen on giving her the opportunity to turn this into a midnight paper signing.

“Unless we act quickly to strengthen our union in any way we can.” Lucius finished.

Three…. Two…. one….

Narcissa blinked, “What do you mean, darling?” Like clockwork.

Internally, Lucius braced himself for the worst of this. Now that Narcissa was here, he’d have to lay on the charm thick to accomplish what he’d set out to.

He stood from his desk, sighing. He took three dramatic steps around his desk to stand in front of his fiancee and drop to his knee.

“Narcissa, darling.” He said, even though such a term of endearment was entirely frivolous.

He had to think quickly. What would convince her to these terms?

The clause he was putting forward required a medical examination to prove Narcissa’s fertility, her tailor measurements, and a member of his staff to ‘chaperone’ and ‘protect’ her until their wedding day. She didn’t need to know that the member of his staff happened to be a hired private detective with orders to catch her in the act of premarital infidelity.

Even if he’d previously agreed to not mind what she did prior to their marriage, it was different now. Premarital infidelity would violate the contract. With proof, he could have reason to end this without the blame falling on him. Andromeda’s actions had set him up for this opening, and he was going to take it.

But for now, he’d have to convince Narcissa he cared about her. He’d been utterly disinterested in her for the decade and a half they’d been betrothed, so he’d have to make up for lost time in the next... ten minutes? And it was going to be _nauseating._

“After your visit last weekend, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our future together.” Lucius began. Not _exactly_ a lie.

Perhaps he could just state the truth, but position it to sound like sweet nothings. Was that what women liked? Not you, apparently. He’d tried it on you last night in front of the ballroom, and you’d brushed it off like it was all part of the charade. But nevermind that. There was no time for over-thinking this when he needed to woo Narcissa in a matter of minutes. Then he would get grandmere to sign, and get to wherever you were before dinner. This would be over soon enough.

The thought of having you, finally… It was motivation enough to spew such frivolous nonsense. In the name of ripping off that tight black dress and feeling every inch of you. He could do this.

Narcissa smiled hesitantly as Lucius reached for her hand.

“You are beautiful, enchanting, and my perfect match in every way. After our time together last weekend, there’s no doubt in my mind what I want.”

Here went nothing. Time to woo like he'd never wooed before.

“It’s you, Narcissa.” He tried to say it softly, to make it sound heartfelt.

She drew in a gasp, tilting her head at him.

“Forgive my enthusiasm, Narcissa” He said as calmly and softly as he could without wanting to gag. “But every moment I spend here without you seems like a waste. I look forward to it more and more every day. Our future will be-”

“Amazing.” Narcissa nodded, grinning. She looked him over with interest. “Perfect. Extraordinary.”

“Indeed.” He agreed, smiling. He stood again, pacing in front of his desk. “This new clause will help us navigate the next few weeks until I can have you here at last, permanently.”

“Oh?” Narcissa asked, smiling coyly. “Are you looking forward to it?”

No.

“You have no idea.” He said gruffly.

Again, the truth. Just with a huskier voice. Silently, he was actually quite amused at how easy she seemed to be falling for it. He shouldn’t be so good at this. Then again, the sorting hat hadn’t put him in Slytherin for playing fair.

She drew in another breath, eyes darkening. “Lucius, I had no idea you-”

He had to keep this tight. To the point. So he interrupted her.

“The fertility examination is simply a recommendation I found in a letter from my late father… I had always hoped he would be with us on the day of our wedding. It’s the least we can do in his honor.” Lucius said, gravely. “He hoped it would save me from the grief he felt when my mother passed from complications trying to give birth a second time.”

And if she was infertile, he could claim it would be the end of his family line and thus, not an adequate match for marriage.

The women nodded grimly. Perfect. He was playing the dead parents card with ease. His father _had_ given him the idea, after all. That much was true. Now to convince them of the rest.

“The measurements,” He continued, smiling at Narcissa. “Are for… Well, I planned to have a few things sent to you for our wedding night.”

Useful for proving evidence of infidelity in court. If her clothing was carelessly left at Marcus's and found by his private detective, it would be a cinch.

Narcissa bit her lip, looking up at him through her lashes. Hook, line, and sinker. If he wanted to pull this off, he couldn’t continue ignoring her and acting disinterested. He’d need her to convince her grandmother.

“But a member of your staff following her around-”

“I assure you my staff is trained for the highest discipline and secrecy, Celestia. She should hardly know they are there.”

Narcissa nods, clearly outweighing the risks of exposing her tryst with Marcus and pleasing him, her future husband. Lucius liked his odds as he loosened his tie and she followed the movement with dark eyes. He knew the kind of effect he had on women. If it meant playing up to her attraction to him, he wasn’t above it. Anything to get this amendment signed and agreed to.  
“Only the best for my wife.” He added, with a wink. “Speaking of which, I have a little something for you.”

Narcissa blushed, as if on cue as he summoned Dobby. He was in. That sycophant bastard Marcus would pay, too, if things went as planned.

“Oh, Lucius.” Narcissa sighed. “I don’t know what to say.”

Lucius sighed, taking her hand again and looking into her eyes. Where was Dobby? This was an immensely inopportune time for tardiness. Especially after his dedication to timeliness last night.

“Say that you’re all in. That you want this as much as I do.” Lucius said, stalling.

“I do.” She says. “But, I-”

Dobby finally appeared.

“Perfect. Dobby, bring Narcissa the flowers I ordered for her.”

“The… flowers, Master?”

“The red roses I ordered last night?” He gave the elf a pointed look.

Dobby blinked, confused, before finally catching on.

“Well hurry up then, _elf!_ ” He shouted, shooting the elf a private wink as his back turned to the women.

Dobby scampered away, eyes glinting with mischief.

He turned to Celestia then, who was eyeing him with suspicion. Now he’d have to convince her, too. “In conclusion, Celestia, I am counting down the days until Narcissa joins me here at my home.”

He was counting down the number of days he had left to make this happen, after all.

He had to focus. This was it. The closer.

He imagined you waiting for him. Maybe you were in your little silk nightgown, laid back on the bed. Your legs were parted as you peeled off your stockings, waiting for Lucius to finish his meeting.

Lucius mentally groaned at the thought.

“It is my greatest wish to make the transition of her arrival, her moving into my quarters, as smooth as possible. And with this addition, we should be able to fulfill my father’s wish of continuing the Malfoy name. I can think of no woman better poised to be my wife, and the mother of my future children. That is why I put forth this clause. For the good of both my family and yours.”

As if on cue, Dobby presents the unused bouquet flowers from last night, the ones that had been intended for you until you’d claimed to dislike them. Narcissa gasps, grinning. Celestia sighs, and Lucius taps his foot, waiting patiently.

“Oh, do sign it already, Grandmere.” Narcissa says, wistfully. “I wish for nothing other than to make my dear fiance as happy as he will make me.”

“Are you certain, dear?” Celestia asks in her gravelly, gritting voice.

“Yes.” Narcissa replies without hesitation.

Celestia holds his gaze a moment longer, before signing on the dotted line.

Lucius wanted to exhale in relief. This was his chance, and he’d do anything to make it work. Because he wanted a say in his future. If trapping Narcissa in an affair with a piece of discarded clothing in the wrong place--or, alternatively, proving her infertile and thus incapable of producing his heirs-- was the way to do it, then so be it.

Even if it was a reach, it was his only chance.

Lucius clapped his hands, drawing the old woman’s attention away from the fine print which she hadn’t bothered to read prior to signing. _Honestly._

“Very well, that concludes all I needed to clarify and amend in advance.” He tells them, hoping them both a speedy journey away from his home. “Thank you for seeing me on short notice, Celestia.”

“It is my pleasure.” Celestia says warmly, “See you soon, Lucius dear. “

Lucius nodded, thankful to be finally done with the conversation. There was no need to drag it out any further.

“Narcissa, are you coming with me?” Celestia asked, and it’s then that Lucius finally noticed Narcissa’s intent gaze on him.

_Fuck._

“You go ahead, grandmere, I’ll just be a few more moments.” Narcissa says, eyeing him with an unmistakable hunger.

Er, that _particular_ look hadn’t quite been his intention. Still, he’d have to play along.

Celestia gave them a knowing nod before stepping into the floo fireplace in his office.

Narcissa giggled, and Lucius felt himself tense. Was she going to call him on his scheme? Maybe she wasn’t as dim as she appeared. Maybe there was a cunning depth to Narcissa Black that he’d never noticed before.

You could hear a pin drop as she gazed longingly at him. Was that a door creaking? Before Lucius could move, Narcissa was swaying her hips as she walked slowly over and sat herself in his lap. He resisted the urge to toss her to the floor by placing her hands on her hips. Maybe she wouldn’t notice the way his hands had balled into fists that way.

What was her game? Was she trying to call his bluff?

“Oh, Lucius,” Narcissa said softly, “I’m so glad we’re going to be married. I had no idea how interested you were in…” She leaned forward to whisper in his ear, smelling faintly of a floral perfume and menthol cigarettes. “Knowing my _measurements._ ”

She shimmied herself in his lap before taking him by surprise and pressing her lips to his. “You’re coming to dinner, then?”

Her eyes narrowed. She was calling his bluff, then. And though he hadn’t explicitly told her so, Celestia would have twenty four hours to cancel the negotiations if he didn’t play along. She had invited him to dinner. Narcissa would be judging the authenticity of his smarmy declarations based on his actions.

Lucius nodded, saying nothing more.

He’d have to make it up to you somehow, but he would go. It would seem like he was avoiding talking to you, and you’d be angry. Nevertheless, this was a means to an end and it would benefit you both in the long term.

Narcissa grinned, pecking him on the lips again. “See you soon, darling.”

Then her eyes narrowed. As if reading her mind, he realized his mistake.

He hadn’t kissed her back. Twice now. His hands snaked around the small of her back and as she leaned down to kiss him, he kissed her back. Mentally, he counted to three. Thankfully, she pulled back first and hopped happily off of his lap. Then, and without another word, she left.

Dinner was about as interesting and stimulating as his entire day with Celestia had been, and just like his meeting, French dinners went on and on. He wanted to punch something in frustration. The worst part was, he couldn’t be sure that Dobby had properly carried out his orders because he wasn’t _there_ to see it through himself.

After Narcissa had left, he’d asked Dobby to make sure your favorite meal was served at dinner, and that you’d have a hundred purple peonies in your bedroom. Most importantly, he’d asked the elf to assist you with anything you needed.

Dinner was, as it always was, very polite. There was no one calling him a bastard. No one torturing him with a tight little black dress or that snappy snark.

When he finally came home, he had half a mind to find you and talk to you then. But Dobby informed him that you were asleep, and that you had declined the flowers.

You were going to make him suffer for his absence. But he’d make it up to you. You hadn’t even figured it out yet _which_ company he’d acquired.

He’d help you achieve all you’d ever dreamed of, and you would be his, no matter what. It was all going to work out.

He fell asleep easily, pleased with himself. If today was any proof, Lucius was indeed an expert at wooing. You had no idea what you were in for.

Or rather, as you stormed into his office the following morning, with suitcases in hand and bloodshot eyes, _he_ had no idea what he was in for. You didn't seem to notice his slack-jawed, subtly horrified expression at your haggard appearance.

Because you had done it. You had pulled an all-nighter with Dobby and finished the library. And now, you were _free._

With a slightly manic look in your eyes and a triumphant smirk, you drop your luggage and march forward to Lucius's desk.

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m so _glad_ you’re here.” You say, a bit breathless from fast-walking down the long hallway. Your pulse is pounding. Your hair is a mess and you probably look as sleep-deprived as you feel. This is hardly the firm finish you had once imagined, but you had done it. “I wanted to inform you that I am finished.” 

Lucius tilts his head, eyeing you with an amused smirk. “Finished, Miss Hyde?”

“With the library of course.” You say, grinning.

"The-"

“That's right. I’m done. As of this morning, I am no longer under your employ.”

As expected, the smirk wipes off his face, and it feels exactly as good as you had imagined it would.

He shakes his head in confusion, eyebrows furrowing. “Estella, I-”

“I hope you have a _fantastic_ life in your _fantastic_ mansion.” You drawl in a mock-aristocratic voice. “With your fantastic _wife._ ” You’re practically shaking with anger.

Well, there goes your graceful exit. You're rambling like a crazy person. You take a deep breath to try and calm your volatile emotions in his presence.

“Estella,” He says, sounding perfectly calm and composed like a complete bastard,“Look, last night-”

If he thinks he’s going to let you down easy and make you think this was all in your head, he’s out of his stupidly handsome mind. 

“It doesn’t matter.” You hold up a hand, smile now plastered on, “I hope you are happy. That’s all. I think you deserve to be... happy.” Your voice cracks, and that’s when his arms reach out for you. You step out of his reach.

“So _talk_ to me.” He says softly. He's as put-together as ever, as if you needed further evidence he didn't feel the same as you did. He reaches for you again and you back away towards your luggage.

“You know, you deserve to be happy.” You keep him at arm's length, shaking your head. “Truly happy. Not the happy you make me feel, being such a horrible bastard all the time and still _somehow_ making me feel…” You shake your head, trailing off.

You aren’t making any sense. It’s the caffeine and wide-eye potion fading. Or maybe it’s your heart breaking. You just need to get out of here.

“You know what? It doesn’t matter.” You blink, willing yourself not to have an emotional breakdown in front of him. You breathe deeply, successfully composing yourself for a moment. “Good luck with your wedding. I’m going now.”

Lucius crosses his arms over his chest. “I can understand why you’re upset, but you won’t be leaving like this. I’ll need to review your work, and there's-”

“Actually, that’s the best part.” You laugh again, shaking your head. You dig through the top zip pouch of your luggage and pull out the contract, shoving it in his chest. His stupidly firm chest. “When you removed the clause requiring me to stay two full months, you removed any right to declare my work unsatisfactory after it’s completion. I am finished, and so I’m _going._ ”

“No, you aren’t” He says, following you towards the fireplace. It physically pains you how attractive he is when he’s so angry and determined.

“Look, you _bastard_!” You exclaim before he can get his hands anywhere near you. “Haven’t you had enough? You proved your point, okay? I’m a mudblood. You’re a pureblood. There is nothing between us and there never will be. I can only take so much of this… this _insanity!_ What is this? Revenge? A power play? Get over yourself, Lucius, I’m done.”

He shakes his head, “Estella, you aren’t listening. Be rational. Why would I-”

“Goodbye, Lucius.” You tell him, gathering your suitcases with your wand.

“Look, why don't you just stay for lunch.” He demands. “Just, please. _Listen._ ”

He reaches for your hand and you pull it away. He’s lucky you don’t slap him across his pretty face for playing with you like this. Pleading with you as if he _cares_.

“No. _This_ ” You gesture between the two of you. “is over.”

“No.” He narrows his eyes, copying your gesture. “ _This_ is _far_ from over.”

You smirk, stepping past him as you grab a fistful of floo powder. “Care to make a wager, Mr. Malfoy?”

You step in the fireplace with him hot on your tail. You need to get out of here. His proximity is making you feel things you never want to feel with him again.

“Estella, calm down, just think rationally, I don't…” He sounds exasperated. But you’re already throwing down the powder. He shakes his head as he steps backwards, giving you space. His gaze is pleading. He holds out his hand to you. "Stay." 

You stare at his hand, scowling. The _audacity of this man._ He narrows his eyes, daring you to defy him.

If you didn’t know better, you might fall for it and give in. But then you remember Narcissa sitting on his lap, kissing him. Lucius kissing her back. You narrow your eyes, announcing your destination in a clear, cold voice.

Then you’re finally free. And miserable. It’s only when you’re in the comfort of your own home that you are able to pour yourself a large glass of wine and sit with your feelings.

Five weeks and your flat now seems like a foreign place. There was no comfort in your wall full of books. Or your simple knitted blanket on the small thrifted couch.

It’s a lot to process, being home again.

Come Monday, you’ll feel better, but right now you’re in the thick of it. You just needed to get it together by Monday. Come Monday, you’ll go to work and you’ll have forgotten all about him.

Lucius _who?_

See? Easy enough. You just had to stay strong. He’ll be married and you’ll be a successful archivist and everything will be alright. You just need to get through the weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys SENT me with the comments on last chapter. I was cracking up. 
> 
> Have a wonderful weekend, everyone! I will be following around my crazy dog all weekend long and attending a virtual birthday party. What are you guys doing? Please take care of yourself and stay safe and healthy! 💕


	27. Chapter 27

**In the lobby of your office building, your heels click confidently against the marble floor and you hold your head high.** It’s a quick jog to catch the open elevator and then you smash your button for the third floor. Paper airplanes hover above your head, the primary messaging system used by the office. Several of the paper planes whizz out at each floor as the elevator climbs through the building. It’s only four stories high, and your floor is just below that of the Daily Prophet.

Alexis Ainsley, the Daily Prophet’s society column reporter and your dearest friend is only a floor away now. She knows you’re back to work today and you have plans for lunch together, so there’s something to look forward to. After a decent night’s sleep in your own bed and a relaxing weekend off, you’re feeling level-headed. Sure, you’re a bit wounded, but you’re going to be alright.

“Welcome back, Stella.” Victoria, the office receptionist greets you with a big smile as you walk past her desk. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Hello, Victoria.” You greet her, scanning the floor for your desk.

You find the engraved placard with your name on it in the most private corner of the office and breathe a sigh of relief. Everything was exactly as you’d left it. There was some small comfort in that.

“Stella’s back?” Maxwell, the intern, practically comes running down the hallway before you can even set your things down and sit down at your desk. “Oh, thank Merlin. I thought I might quit if I were stuck with those two tosspots for much longer.” He huffs dramatically.

He’s referring to the two general archivists in the department. Andrew and George. Sons of one of your boss’s friends. They were hired without any experience. Their only reference being membership of some elitist gentlemen’s club your boss is also in. If that wasn’t enough reason for you to despise them, they were entirely too enthusiastic and loud for the kind of quiet work done at the Ancient Archives Association.

You smirk. “And where are they now?”

The office is unusually quiet without them mucking about. Not that you minded.

They’d always taken an attitude with you. Being a woman and their superior seemed cause enough for those two to always doubt everything you asked them to do. It was exhausting.

“They’re in a meeting with Bertie,” Victoria calls from behind you. “Big changes happening today, you know.”

You laugh. Bertie, your boss, often joked that he was older than most of the items that came through the office, but you truthfully had no clue just how old he was. All you knew was that he looked well over a hundred. He wasn’t exactly limber, either. It often took him ten minutes to walk across the office.

Bertie had a suit for every day of the week and never wore one out of order. He wasn’t keen on change. His ‘big change’ was probably something small and insignificant like getting a new quill set for the office, but he’d want to announce it to everyone as if it were some grand affair. It’s good to be back.

Victoria tilts her head in confusion, but you brush it off.

“And the new intern?” You ask, searching the nearly empty office.

“Out ill.” Victoria rolls her eyes. “Again.”

“How’s the old man doing?”

“Well he’ll be better now, I suppose.” She answers, giving you a pointed look.

Bertie is an old geezer with outdated worldviews. Still, he liked you. You did your best to stay on his good side, and he often gave you the best assignments.

“Hmm.” You say, a bit uncomfortable with how Max and Victoria were looking at you like you had something on your face. “How has business been?”

You rub your chin self-consciously while they share a look.

“Buzzing actually, with the _news_...” Max says, with a pointed look back at Bertie’s door, and you nod vaguely.

You have nothing to offer on the subject, so you simply shrug. When Max realizes you aren’t going to ask for the juicy details or provide any juicy details, he walks with a huff.

Even Victoria seems a bit let down by your lack of input, but you want to busy yourself with work, so you sit at your desk and begin to sort through your mail. You create an itinerary for yourself and jump right in.

This is normal. This feels good. Soon, you’ll have a new assignment and the past will be in the past.

At lunchtime, you practically sprint to the elevator in giddy anticipation. Alexis waits for you in the lobby, and you envelope her in a tight hug. She returns it, practically crushing you in the process.

“Oh, I missed you!” Alexis exhales, releasing you. “So much has happened.”

“So much.” You agree. “We have quite a lot to catch up on.”

“Yes, starting with how you were actually there when-” She looks over her shoulder. “ when Narcissa Black saw the article! Did she explode? Did she cry? Spill. I want to know _everything_.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you glance around. “Okay, but… not here.”

This building is filled with businesses that primarily dealt with the buying, selling, and handling of information. It was no place to tell her about what happened at the manor. Not out in the open.

When you take your usual table at the quiet muggle cafe that has always been your favorite lunch spot, however, it all comes pouring out of you. Well, an abridged version of everything.

How you’d started off as being curious about him in school. Then you had moved on to hating him, yet you’d still found yourself attracted to him. You told her how five years passed and things were much of the same, except for now he was this tall burly businessman and he’d _challenged_ you and drove you mad like no one else could. How at the same time you wanted to slap him, you also wanted to jump his bones. How he’d wooed you and all the while, he still planned to be with Narcissa.

Alexis is trustworthy, and it feels so good to just get it all off your chest. She waits patiently for you to finish, but by the end you’re at a loss for words to describe how it all left you feeling so empty without seeing him every day, even though you know better. But that’s something you’ll never admit aloud.

“Merlin.” She sighs, studying your expression. “It sounds like he really hurt you. I’m sorry, Stella.”

“I’m fine.” You exhale shakily. He _did_ hurt you. So much that you hoped to never see his stupidly perfect face ever again. You even put it in your itinerary to unsubscribe to the Daily Prophet until the wedding comes, goes, and is _old news._ Just so you don’t have to see him with Narcissa.

“You love him.” She says simply.

Your chest tightens. You shake your head adamantly.

“I don’t….” You scoff. “I couldn’t possibly _love_ someone so uptight, so serious and bloody _irritating_ -”

She smirks, holding her hands up in defeat.

“Okay, okay.” She gives you a dubious look. “You don’t love him.” She agrees. Then she smirks, stirring her drink with her straw.

You narrow your eyes at her. “I don’t.”

“Fine.” She squints her eyes, picking apart her croissant, pretending like she’s going to let it go. You know that she won’t. “But, If I may share my thoughts…”

You roll your eyes. “You may.”

“Estella, I’ve never heard you speak about a man like you just did in all the years I've known you. Even when you’re telling me how much you despise him, there’s this look in your eyes like you know you don’t.”

“Well, that doesn’t mean anything. I-”

“And as much as I’m highly disappointed that you didn’t take the opportunity to, you know, make sweet sweet love to that _adonis_ of a man. You know, shag his brains out, so to speak…. “

It's then you find yourself _not_ daydreaming about what it would have been like to shag Lucius's brains out. Definitely, you are not thinking about how sure you were that it would be the other way around. You’d seen him work out from the Library window. He was powerful. He could probably do _lots_ of things to you…

But you aren’t thinking about that.

“And...” She sighs, eyeing you warily.

 _Oops._ You hadn’t been paying attention.

“And?” You ask, nodding for her to continue. You sip your water, hoping to cover your blush.

Alexis sighs. “I think you are looking at this from a short-sighted perspective, Estella. It’s not your loss, it’s his. You deserve to be loved by someone who lifts you up rather than someone who tears you down. Someone who _chooses_ you and embraces you for who you are.”

“He wouldn’t ever choose me."

"Why not?" She rolls her eyes.

"Because…” You can’t quite meet her gaze, then. “I’m a mudblood. He’s practically royalty in terms of being a Pureblood.”

“Since when did that ever mean anything to you?” She asks, frowning. “You don’t take anyone’s shit. Don’t start now.” She gives you a fierce look, daring you to deny it.

“And I understand why you’re feeling down. Your feelings are completely valid. He pursued you and, somehow expected you not to be the stubborn bastard I know and love. I still can’t believe he told you to ‘ _be rational_.’ Ugh, men are so incredibly dim sometimes. I'm sure if you had talked to him, you wouldn't feel so torn. He would have dug his grave further. Some men just don't know when to quit...”

“Yeah.” You sigh. “And he’s a stubborn bastard too.”

“Yes.” She snorts. “I think that’s why you love him.”

“I don’t…” You wince. It would be pathetic if you did, right? _You won’t._ “You know, I think it’s just that I just have never wanted…”

“You’ve never wanted... to shag someone so much?” She jokes.

You smirk, sipping your water. “Well, that much is true.”

She gives you a triumphant, knowing grin. “Is he really that good-looking?”

You nod, smiling half-heartedly. “He’s alright.”

“I’ve only seen pictures.” She shrugs. 

“Well you know, he works out like three hours a day, so...” You sigh.

“How do you know that?” She snorts “Did you watch him or something?”

You clear your throat, sipping your tea. “Maybe once or twice.”

She gives you a wide-eyed look.

“He was right outside the Library window!” You shrug, grinning. “I couldn’t help but see.”

So _many_ times, you simply couldn’t help but see him pull his shirt over his head and toss it on the ground, lifting himself on metal rings and push heavy tires. Then there was the _stretching_ … You couldn’t help if a sight like that caught your eye, could you? You were only human, after all.

“Merlin’s beard.” She whispers, interrupting your daydream. “My friend, you are a total hussy.”

You sigh, flicking a sugar packet at her. “You’d be a total hussy too if you saw him in person, Lex.”

“Probably.” She shrugs, “In fact, if I had been there, I would have set up a chair and some snacks to enjoy the view up close.”

You smirk, sipping your tea. Alexis absolutely would do that. She had no shame.

“Then again, he’s a total prick.” She fiddles with the empty packet of sugar you flicked at her. “Hmmm. Well, he’s always going to be the same rigid bastard. So will you. People don’t really change. So maybe it’s better this way. You don’t want to deal with all that drama, that stubborn battle of wills for the rest of your life, do you?”

“Yeah, I suppose not.” You say noncommittally, “He had his mind made up a long time ago, anyway. He was clear about it. He said he was only available _‘for a distraction.’_ ”

“Ugh.” She scoffs. “Bastard.”

“Tell me about it.”

“But if he wasn’t getting married?”

“He is, though.” You shrug. “So that’s that. It’s done.” You look out the window at the sunny street.

“Well I’ll definitely have some choice words for the man when I cover his wedding.” She grins, trying to cheer you up. “Only a few weeks away, you know. I’ll be sure to be brutal.”

“Yeah…” You shrug. You look out the window and try not to think about the wedding.

“Okay,” She sighs, clearly catching on to the shift in your mood. “No more talking about shaggable bastards, hmm? Let’s talk about something else.”

By the time you arrive back at your desk, you feel a bit better. As you fill out a reply to an inquiry about your office’s services, Max pops by your desk.

“Bertie wants to see you.” He grins. Again, he studies your expression and you give him an odd look.

“Right, okay.” You nod slowly. “Be there in five.”

Maybe he already had another assignment for you, and you would be able to keep busy while the wedding happened. You smooth out your hair and pop on a bit of lipstick to distract from the fact that your eyes have dark circles under them. Despite how tired you look, Bertie would have to admit that finishing a library of the Malfoy Manor’s volume in just over a month was impressive. He'd have to have something good to say, right?

You rap your knuckles on the door of his office.

“Come in, dear.” your boss’s wheezy voice calls to you from the other side.

You pull open the door, beaming. “Hello, Bertie, good to see you again. I-”

Whatever you were in the process of verbalizing dies immediately in your throat. 

Because your boss is not alone. Standing behind Bertie’s chair, facing the window is a silhouette of a tall man with broad shoulders and long hair tied back from his chiseled face in a ponytail.

_No. This isn’t happening._

Your smile falters. “Bertie?”

Lucius turns to face you, then, his arrogant smirk already far too unbearable. Your heart skips a beat as his gaze finds yours. Immediately, you snap your gaze back to Bertie. Because you can’t stand to face him.

_This is a nightmare. Surely you’ll wake up and do this day over properly. This can’t be happening._

“Ah, yes.” Berties says, smiling warmly as he looks between the two of you. “I hardly think introductions will be necessary. Lucius here speaks quite highly of you, Miss Hyde.”

Well, at least he isn’t here to criticise your work. Reluctantly, you glance back at the bastard. Lucius is already watching you, face impassive. There’s that mischievous twinkle in his gaze as you meet his eyes again, and you feel your heartbeat quicken. This is the worst.

“Is that so?” You ask with a stiff smile.

“Oh, yes” Bertie nods. “I’m sure you two will get along famously.”

“Sorry?” You tilt your head in confusion. “Get along?”

“Well you had to have known I would retire eventually, dear.” The old man chuckles. “This can’t be that great of a surprise.”

You frown. _Retire…. Bertie is retiring?_

Lucius holds your gaze with a silent delight as the wheels turn in your head. Bertie is retiring. _Lucius is here._ Lucius who had just acquired a new company… Suddenly the odd looks you had received from Max and Victoria earlier made so much sense. Your pen slips from your fingers and you begin to shake your head violently.

“No.”

Lucius steps forward to gracefully retrieve your pen from the floor and offer it to you. As your fingers brush and you take your pen back, you swallow hard. He looks you over with a curious expression, frowning.

You snap your gaze back to your boss. _Former boss?_ You silently plead with him to tell you that he’s joking, even if you know he won’t.

“Now, now, dear.” Bertie smiles warmly. “While I appreciate that you will miss me, I’m an old man. I can’t keep working forever. Lucius will be overseeing this office as he is now the owner of my family’s legacy. I entrust him with all we’ve worked towards. I think you’ll find-”

But you’re not listening. You’re furious. You’re devastated that you thought you could move on peacefully. You just keep bobbing your head up and down, finding yourself unable to stop smiling in this stiff, disingenuous way.

You’re in utter disbelief that this is truly happening to you.

“Bertie, If I may have a word with Miss Hyde in private?” Lucius’s smooth voice breaks your silent brooding. Then intensifies it, as you realize how much you’ve missed the smooth deepness to his voice.

Bertie falters, looking between the two of you.

“Yes of course.” He laughs, delighted. “You two know each other quite well by now, I’m sure. Straight to business, then. Excellent! Well, I’ll be off now. Take care, Stella, dear. It was a pleasure working with you.”

“You’re leaving _today_?” You sputter in disbelief.

Bertie nods, glancing to Lucius with an uncomfortable chuckle. “Of course. That’s why Mr. Malfoy is here, after all.”

Lucius gives him a charming smile, before his eyes stray towards you again. There’s that challenging, smug glint you hate so much.

_Smug bastard._

Bertie stands slowly. “Well, Lucius, this is your office now. I’m sure you will do my family a great honor in continuing our legacy. Thank you.”

With that, Bertie walks right past you and out the door, silently betraying you as if you hadn’t worked yourself ragged for him for the past three years. As if he hadn’t taken you under his wing and even promoted you over the other two tosspots. With four slow steps, you were no longer safe even in your own office from the worst person who had ever happened to you.

“Well, this office is surely _something_ , isn’t it?” Lucius says with a sly grin as he gestures around at the thirty-something photographs of Bertie’s pet owl on the walls and the little owl bobblehead on the desk. Then he settles himself into Bertie’s chair, and you can’t stand it for a moment longer. He wants to act nonchalant, as if he hadn't completely crushed you inside? Fine. 

You’re leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you all are safe and healthy <3 take care of yourselves. pt 2 of this update also being posted today (29 January) pls don't yell at me I am soft.


	28. Chapter 28

**You leap out of your chair and bound towards the door with purpose**. You don’t have to put up with this. You can simply quit and find another job. Sure, you’d have to start all over again. But this is just _too much._ You hear his footsteps behind you, but you are determined not to have this conversation. You reach for the doorknob, but then a warm hand covers yours, pulling you deeper into the office with a gentle tug.

It _pains_ you to feel the sparks now as his skin meets yours. So just as quickly as he manages to touch you, you’re wrenching your hand from his grasp.

“Don’t _touch_ me.” You whirl around to find him standing far too close.

He must see the pure rage in your eyes, because he falters and his eyes widen. He ends up taking a few steps backwards. You cross your arms over your chest. He swallows, taking yet another step backwards.

“Estella…” He begins, his deep voice saying your name in that sexy way that makes you feel like _hexing him._ “It’s really good to see you.”

“I wish I could say the same, Mr. Malfoy.” You retort. “But instead I have to wonder... have you _lost your mind?_ ”

He blinks in surprise, before giving you an amused, unbothered smile.

“I truly have missed your... _charming_ personality.” His eyebrows lift as you scowl at him.

“Again.” You give him an unimpressed once-over, though he’s impeccably dressed and _handsome as ever._ “I really wish I could say the same.”

His smile only stretches wider, as if he’s silently laughing at a private joke. You don’t think it’s very funny at all.

“How are you doing?”

“Fine, thank you.”

“Really?” His eyes study your face intently. It might even seem affectionate if you didn’t know better.

“Yes.” You snap in irritation. “Other than the fact that a horrid, manipulative bastard seems to have acquired the business that I currently work for, probably only for the sole purpose of annoying me, I am _perfectly fine_.”

“Now, now.” He smirks. “Is that any way to speak to your boss?” His tone is light, teasing. As if he hadn’t stomped all over your heart only two days ago.

“Well, as truly _invigorating_ as this conversation has been, I need to return to work.” You roll your eyes.

“Indeed you do. Take a seat” He says, halting you in your plans to leave. “I believe it is my duty to provide you your next assignment.”

You glare at him, depositing yourself in the chair across from the desk. He walks around the desk slowly, shrugging off his suit jacket. He slings it across the back of the chair, making himself at home. You look away, and by the time your eyes reluctantly face him again, he’s rolling up the sleeves of his crisp blue button up shirt. You follow the motion with your eyes, swallowing the sudden dryness in your mouth.

“So.” Lucius says, meeting your gaze head on. “At your last assignment, you excelled beyond expectations.”

You don’t thank him or smile. There’s no way you’re going to play along nicely with the bastard. He must have a motive for doing this, and until you figure it out, you’re staying silent. You just sit there with your hands folded in your lap, waiting for this to be over.

He studies your expression, before fidgeting with the paperwork. He bites his lip, then rubs his chin with his hand as if something’s made him uncomfortable.

“Let’s see. _Estella Hyde_ …” He flips through a stack of papers that you know with absolute certainty have nothing to do with you or any assignments. It’s a newsletter. _What on earth is he doing?_ “May I call you Stella?” He asks, giving you a charming smile.

“You may not.” Is your succinct reply.

“Estella,” He sighs, dropping the stack of papers on the desk in defeat. “Are you truly angry with me because I had to extend my meeting and I needed to have dinner without you?”

You don’t budge, staring him down. “What is this, Lucius?”

He tilts his head, watching you curiously. “What is _what_ , Estella?”

“Why did you purchase this company, of all companies?”

He shrugs, smiling at you. “I recently took an interest in Archive work.”

“Hmm. Right.” You fold your arms over your chest. “Well, if you would please tell me what the assignment is so I can return to my work, then.”

He tuts, shaking his head with that silently amused twinkle in his eyes.

“Now, now. _Play nicely._ ”

You grind your jaw, reminding yourself that it would be worse to be imprisoned in Azkaban for attacking the owner of your company than to sit here and listen to this man and his deep sexy voice. Only slightly worse, you’re sure, but still worse enough to keep you in your seat, waiting patiently.

“The next assignment I have for you is for a collection of paintings that need to be evaluated for retouching and reframing.”

“Very well.” You sigh. “Where is the collection?”

“Right. Let me write it down for you.” He taps his chin, before scribbling the address on a notepad, tearing it off, and sliding it over to you. “You can go this afternoon, if you’d like. Or you can begin tomorrow.”

You snatch it off the desk, scanning it before balling it up in your fist. “No.”

He raises both eyebrows. “No?”

“No, I won’t be returning to your-” You cut yourself off with an enraged inhale, throwing the balled up paper at him. "- _Bloody_ home, Lucius. Are you mad? What in the name of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans is _wrong_ with you?”

He dares to let his lips twitch upwards.

You get up, standing over the desk and glowering at him. “One of the other archivists will take it. I refuse.”

He tuts. “Well we aren’t off to a good start as boss and employee, are we... How _am I_ going to recommend you for promotion if you won’t follow orders? Hmm.” He strokes his chin.

You almost let a strangled cry of anger escape, but instead you flee again to the door before you can assault him.

The door locks magically, and you wiggle it again and again in frustration. Lucius casts a Muffliato, blocking the sound from the others on the other side of the office.

That’s when you see red.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?” You shout, spinning to find him right behind you again. “Is this some sort of… _twisted_ way of telling me you have feelings for me? Are you obsessed with me or something? Are you _stalking_ me?”

He just looks at you with wide eyes, half shocked and half amused. “I beg your pardon?”

“Actually, it doesn’t matter. This is absolutely ludicrous.” You say, pacing back and forth. “I won’t tolerate it. This is my _place of work_.”

“Actually, it’s _mine_ , now.”

You freeze, whirling on him. “Why are you doing this? You have other businesses to run. Why would you acquire an archiving company that needs attention constantly? It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Perhaps I wanted a change of career.” Lucius shrugs.

You scoff, “You could be anywhere right now, bothering---quite literally, _anyone_ else, but you’re doing this to me. Why? Are you still upset over something that happened at Hogwarts so many years ago? Really?”

He narrows his eyes at you. “No.” He shrugs. “I’m here today because I wanted to speak with you. You ran off without telling me why you were so upset, or what you wanted to say to me the day before.”

You scoff. “I’m not upset, I’m just done putting up with your asinine behavior.”

He takes a step closer. “I think you _are_ upset.” He shrugs, staring you down with an intensity.

You roll your eyes. “Get over yourself. Whatever little lapse in sanity I had when I last let you kiss me, has since passed. It won’t be happening again.”

“Is that so?” He growls, taking another step closer.

“Yes.” You tell him, arching a sassy brow at him. “Now, will you be giving me a proper assignment, or will I be returning to my desk work?”

He looks down at you with dark eyes. “This is how you would speak to your boss?”

“Which will it be?” You demand.

He runs an exasperated hand through his hair, messing it up slightly. “I sent word that I wouldn’t be able to make it. Why are you so angry?”

You scoff, refusing to look at him.

“Unless…” He says slowly. “There’s something else you’re angry about.”

You don’t answer.

His gaze locks on yours and he studies you with an intensity as he thinks it over.

“Dobby.” He growls. “He mentioned that you were able to see the third floor passage. Find anything _interesting_ in there?”

You stare blankly at the wall behind him.

“Perhaps you heard something you weren’t meant to hear.” Lucius says, standing in front of you and leaning down to peer into your eyes. “Perhaps you saw something you weren’t supposed to see. Something... that made you _jealous_.”

You shrug, looking away from him. “What you do with your fiance is none of my business.”

He sighs, but you can hear the smug, arrogant grin in his voice when he speaks again. “Estella...”

“It’s fine.” You tell him. “I know you are getting married. I’ve known that for a while now. It’s a scummy thing for you to do to have an affair, especially without telling me beforehand that you were engaged, but I’m glad it didn’t go any further.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” You finally feel the courage to look up at him. “From now on, let’s be strictly professional. I’m not interested in being your ‘distraction’, Lucius."

His jaw tenses and he watches you with a dark, hooded gaze. But you're not playing this game anymore. You're done.

"Now which will it be? Assignment or back to my desk?” Your face is hard, unrelenting. You just hope he doesn’t read into your eyes and see how much this is killing you.

There’s a traitorous part of you that’s happy to see him, but you _know_ you can’t have him, and this will only hurt more if you hold on to your feelings. So you won’t.

“Very well.” He sighs, looking at you with an unreadable expression. “Allow me to walk you to your desk.”

He unlocks the door, and you don’t hesitate in walking out first, as fast as possible. He’s hot on your tail though, catching up to you easily with his long legs. You stomp over to your desk, ignoring him as you take a seat and cross off your meeting on your memo pad.

“So this is where you work.” He says, still standing behind you, apparently.

“It won’t be for much longer if you continue to pester me.” You say under your breath, but he catches it, chuckling.

“Oh, but I so _enjoy_ pestering you Miss Hyde.” He says silkily in your ear. “In fact, I may make a career of it.”

You glare at him and he finally leaves, sauntering over to the reception desk where Victoria is all big smiles. As you hear her giggle at something he says, you grind your jaw. Of course Victoria is some big socialite’s daughter, so Lucius probably knows her. If that wasn’t reason enough for him to spend the next hour at her desk, you have to admit she’s beautiful, though barely out of Hogwarts. Still, it grates your nerves. It’s too hard to focus with him here. It was hard enough to focus without him here. You can’t relax.

A half hour before your shift is over, you decide you can’t take it anymore. You snatch your cardigan and satchel and march towards the elevator without a backwards glance. He gives you a disapproving look from the reception desk and you pointedly ignore him.

If he might scold you tomorrow, so be it. You can’t take this anymore.

The rest of the week is just as aggravating, and it only gets worse. Because on the fourth day, Lucius discovers the paper plane system, and suddenly you’re receiving requests to retrieve files from the news archives. Like you’re some intern who does busywork, which you absolutely _are not_.

After the fifth one lands on your desk, you walk right past the filing system and straight to his office.

“What is the meaning of this?” You ask, tossing the pile of unfolded notes on his desk.

“Files, Miss Hyde.” He says, pointing to his perfectly neat handwriting. “See here? I need the 1953 article on the Ministry inauguration.”

His cool blue eyes disarm you, but only for a moment. He smiles innocently at you, and you scowl back at him.

“There are interns for such tasks.” You tell him, crossing your arms over your chest. “I am an _executive_ archivist. I don’t fetch files.”

He leans forward, the tips of his fingers pressed together like a tent. “Hmm. You are, aren’t you? _Executive_. I wonder if such a title is accurate or necessary, really, if you can’t manage to fetch a few simple files.”

Your jaw grinds. His eyes flash in delight.

“Bastard.” You huff, snatching the papers from his desk and storming out.

In the labyrinth of the file cabinets, the interns eye you with confusion.

“Did you need something, Stella?” Max asks, rushing to your side.

“Nope.” You answer, popping the ‘p.’ You don’t miss the surprised look he exchanges with Melissa at your tone.

You enchant the files to go levitate into his office, and then another note flies to your desk.

**_‘Miss Hyde,  
  
_ **

**_In the future, please deliver any requested material by hand.  
  
_ **

**_Lucius A. Malfoy_ **

**_C.E.O.  
_ ** **_Ancient Archives Association’_ **

You laugh mirthlessly. He has to be joking. You’re up to your neck in responding to your work mail and he wants you to fetch files and hand deliver them while both the interns discuss some upcoming party this weekend. Ridiculous.

**_‘Mr. Malfoy,_ **

**_You’ll find that my job description allows me to prioritize and delegate tasks as necessary. For example, the two interns hired to fetch files and assist journalists with research are currently unoccupied and at leisure to serve you._ **

**_I will gladly delegate such miniscule tasks to the perfectly capable aforementioned interns for you, if you cannot find the time._ **

**_  
Regards,  
  
_ **

**_Estella Hyde_ **

**_Executive Archivist  
(Read: Not An Intern)  
Ancient Archives Association’_ **

Before you can properly focus on your task again, a reply is dropping on your desk.

**_‘Miss Estella (Not An Intern) Hyde,_ **

****

**_I believe that as Chief Executive Officer of this company, I am at liberty to alter job descriptions… Am I not?_ **

**_Now yours includes fetching files, but only for me. You’re welcome.  
Now, Fetch files 6745 A and the paper from September 3, 1964._ **

****

**_With Gratitude,  
  
_ **

**_Lucius A. Malfoy_ **

**_C.E.O.  
Ancient Archives Association.’_ **

You sigh, standing from your desk. When you catch his evil smirk from his open door, you ignore him, fetching the files and stomping over to swiftly drop them on his desk. Then you turn around and return to your desk without a word.

**_‘Miss Hyde,  
  
_ **

**_If you could show a little more regard for the delicate nature of these old files upon delivery, It would be greatly appreciated._ **

**_Yours,  
  
_ **

**_Lucius A. Malfoy_ **

**_C.E.O.  
Ancient Archives Association’_ **

You decide to send a shorter reply and end this exchange.

**_‘Mr. ~~Bastard~~ Malfoy,  
  
_ **

**_Forgive me, my hand slipped.’_ **

You smirk, sending it off to it’s destination.

**_‘My Faithful Fi ~~le Fetcher~~ Servant,  
  
_ **

**_You are forgiven. What are your plans for lunch?’_ **

You narrow your gaze at him from across the office. Every day it seems like your desk is getting closer and closer to him, and you know it’s not a coincidence. He’s doing this. But why?

**_‘Eating.’_ **Is your single word answer.

Then you take off with your wallet before he can bother you again. As you rant to Alexis in line at the cafe for the fourth day in a row about how annoying he has been, she shakes her head, grinning.

“He totally bought a company to be near you.” She sighs. “It’s kind of romantic, don’t you think?”

You narrow your eyes at her. “A few days ago you said I deserved better. I thought you were on my side?”

“I am,” She agrees, “But…”

It takes a moment, but then you realize what you had missed.

“You saw him, didn’t you? ”

“I did.” She winces, smiling apologetically. “And he’s yummy, Stella. _Luscious_ would be a more appropriate name for him. Utterly gorgeous, if you ask me.”

You roll your eyes at her. “Just because he’s attractive and here, it doesn’t mean anything’s changed.”

“Well, there’s one new development…” She winces again, eyes darting over your shoulder for a moment. “I rode the elevator with him yesterday after lunch, he asked if there was anywhere good to eat nearby and I… may have mentioned this cafe? Aaand he might be here right now.” She says, smiling widely as she waves in the direction of the open door.

“Alexis _why?_ ” You groan, turning your back to the door. "Merlin, this is a disaster.”

“What is a disaster?” His silky voice sounds from behind you.

With a heavy sigh, you turn to face him.

“They’re out of, er, cinnamon buns.” You lie, scratching your head as you turn your face away, hoping he doesn’t see your blush.

“No they aren’t." Alexis gives you an evil smirk, before pointing at the glass display case full of cinnamon buns. "Look, just there.”

“Right.” You cross your arms over your chest, staring at the menu and wondering why the universe hates you so much. "Thank you."

“Miss Ainsely.” Lucius greets Alexis, unbothered by your silence.

“Mr. Malfoy.” She grins. “Lovely to see you again. You must know Estella already, _what a small world_.”

“Indeed.” He agrees, and you can hear his smirk. You don’t look at either of them, annoyed by the betrayal from your so-called friend and infuriated that Lucius doesn’t seem to mind being in a muggle cafe enough to stay away from you.

As you wait in line, they chat like old friends and you ignore them both. You order your favorite caffeinated beverage and skip the food since you suddenly have no appetite.

That and you refuse to stay any longer than necessary in this place while he’s here. While you wait for your drink at the end of the counter, Alexis tells you they’re going to grab a table. Several people get up to leave, and she and Lucius take a seat. You stay at the counter, waiting for your drink.

“Do you know that guy?” The teenage barista asks, smiling at you as she hands you your beverage. She nods towards the table, and you glance back to find Lucius watching you with a heated gaze as Alexis chats happily.

“Yep,” You say to the barista. “And he’s a bastard.”

She sighs, “He’s dreamy.”

“A nightmare, actually.” You snatch your drink from her hand and walk right past their table and out the door, deciding to go wherever Lucius will _not be._

When you’re back at your desk, though, you regret not buying something to eat. Your stomach rumbles loudly and you become even more irritable. You decide to shelve some books while everyone’s out at lunch. You hear the others return, but you continue to do busywork.

As you finally return to your desk an hour later, you discover a box with a cinnamon roll inside Your eyes snap up to find a paper plane hovering over you. With a great big sigh, you snatch it and unfold it.

**_‘Miss Hyde,_ **

**_It would be most unsatisfactory if one of my employees were to go hungry and let their job performance slip as a result. I have corrected this mishap personally as an offering of goodwill._ **

**_Yours sincerely,_ **

**_Lucius A. Malfoy_ **

**_C.E.O.  
Ancient Archives Association ’_ **

For some reason, this gesture leaves you feeling more melancholy and defeated than angry. When he did things like this…

No. It didn’t matter what he did, he’d always be the bastard that got under your skin and played you like a fool.

 **‘Thanks.’** You respond blandly.

Then you watch the plane take off towards his office, right through the open door. He opens your note, grinning triumphantly. His smile fades, however, as you make a show of lifting the still-sealed box and dumping it directly into your trashcan.

He grabs a sheet of paper and you can tell you’re going to have a migraine if this keeps going.

_**‘Come to my office. Now.’** _

You’re so irritated and hungry, that you feel on the verge of a breakdown. You haven’t been sleeping or eating properly all week. You only ever cried out of pure frustration, and usually it was because of frustration with yourself. This time, you felt like crying because you should have just quit on Monday.

His presence is killing you inside.

You sigh, feeling more tired than anything else as you approach his office. He motions for you to enter, then with a nonverbal spell, shuts the door behind you.

He motions silently for you to sit, and you note with irritation that the navy suit he’s wearing brings out the pale blue of his eyes as you take the chair across from his.

He stares at you for a long moment, waiting for you to speak, but you have nothing to say. He has utterly exhausted you.

“A simple no would have sufficed.” He says softly.

"Fine." You nod, giving him a beat of silence, before offering your input. “No.”

He narrows his eyes at you, and it makes you want to laugh.

Because this is your very own masterfully crafted hell, being locked in this office with him. He smells like that delicious cologne that has you practically salivating and he looks as handsome as ever. The barista had been right, of course. He’s dreamy. Unfairly handsome. Cruel and beautiful.

So you find yourself laughing. Your head falls back, and you just laugh. He lets a hesitant smile slip across his own face as he watches you descend into madness, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

“I quit.” You inform him, standing up. “I can’t be around you anymore. This is madness… I can’t continue to do this.”

“I don’t understand.” He shakes his head, eyes going wide.

You shrug. “You don’t have to understand.”

You’re at the door when his voice stops you.

“Wait.” He pleads. “Listen... You wanted to know why I’m here.”

Reluctantly, you keep standing there, listening.

“I bought this company so that I could help you get to where you want to be.” Lucius says, sounding sincere. “You said you wanted to be an internationally renowned archivist someday. I can help you get there.”

You blink, turning back around. You squint as you study his expression, because you can’t tell if he’s being serious.

“So write me a letter of recommendation.”

“A letter of…” He shakes his head, “Don’t you understand? I could very well make you the _owner_ of this company some day. You’re a brilliant witch, but you need connections to make it to where you want to go. Let me help you.”

“Help me by writing a letter of recommendation-”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“-So I can apply to another job, Lucius.” You find yourself raising your voice. “Let me leave. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

He looks at you, eyes full of frustration and conflict. “Won’t you at least think about it? You’ve built a name here for yourself. You really want to throw it all away?”

You arch a brow. “Are _you_ going to be here?”

He sighs. “Estella.”

“Are you going to be here?” You ask again, “ _Yes or no?_ ”

“Initially, yes-”

“Then I’m absolutely certain I no longer can work here.” You tell him, feeling a bit like you’re coming undone. You’re barely holding back tears. “I can’t come into work, and see you every day. I won’t. You need to let me move on. You have a fiance for Merlin’s sake. I don’t understand why-” You breathe, just barely holding it in.

“Just tell me how I can make it right.” Lucius tells you, voice soft and soothing as he comes around the desk. He leans down, putting his hand on your shoulder as you sniffle, trying not to let any tears fall. “I don’t want you to leave like this. Not over a misunderstanding.”

“It’s not up to you.” You seethe. His hand cups your face, tilting it up to look at him.

“Can you just wait a while? Think it over.” He says, pleading with his eyes. “Take a short vacation. You said you’d like to travel. Take time off. Don’t quit because of me.”

You shake your head, and a treacherous stream of hot tears falls from your eyes. Because you’re still standing here, listening to him, when you just want to go.

“I need to go.” You tell him, staring at the floor.

“Don’t throw your career away, Estella. I just want to help you.” He pleads with you. “I just need to see you. I knew I wanted to continue to see you every day from the first time you walked into my home.” You feel his thumb wipe away your tears and it feels too tender to be real. For a moment, you lean into his touch, before pushing his arm away and wiping your face with the sleeve of your cardigan.

“There's a few foreign branches of this office. Can you go help one of them?” He asks softly, giving you space. “Can you just take some time to think about it?”

You shrug. “I’m not sure where I would even go. Really, I could just-”

“Nonsense.” He says. “I’m sending you out, starting tomorrow. Wherever there’s work, you can go there, okay? Just… don’t quit because of me. No more tears. Please. I can’t…. I can’t bear to see you like this. Please don’t cry.”

You nod, taking a moment to compose yourself. He strokes your cheek with his thumb, looking into your eyes.

“There’s a big project that the Eastern European branch announced on Wednesday.” You mumble. “I’d be gone for four weeks. I...I don’t think I’ll change my mind, though.”

“Four weeks is perfect.” He nods, shoulders rolling back down, as he reaches for a paper and reluctantly, a pen. “Where should I book your hotel?”

You look him in the eyes for a long moment, before chuckling at the irony. He waits patiently.

“It’s in Paris.”

His gaze grows darker almost immediately. “The newsletter said the project was for an up and coming _German_ artist.”

“It is.” You answer, shrugging. “He lives in Paris.”

“ _He does_ , does he?” His jaw tightens, then he nods. “Very well. Will that make this alright?”

"No," You answer. “May I be excused now?”

“Estella, come now. I’m trying, here. Talk to me.”

You shake your head. “I have nothing else to say to you.”

“I have plenty to say to you.”

“That’s nice Mr. Malfoy, but I have work to do before I head out.” You stare at the door, feeling broken.

“ _Estella._ ”

You hate yourself for pausing, for turning back to face him.

“Just think about it, alright?” His eyes plead with you. “Don’t do anything rash.”

You shrug at his request, because he has no right to ask you to think about anything. Not when he was going to be married the next time you saw him.

"Estella..." He moves towards you, but you've had enough.

“Goodbye Lucius.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew. off to Paris! 😊 *whistles innocently, ducking the tomatoes my dear readers launch in my direction*. have a great weekend everyone.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You pay a visit to your old mentor Lyla Wiggins, and she recounts a tale of two students she once knew that fell in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accidentally posted this update to the wrong fic, thanks for those who brought it to my attention 😅 sorry y’all.

**It’s Friday, but you won’t be going into the office today, and you aren't likely to ever return there again.** Sure, you have an entire month to decide, but you feel as though you’ve already made up your mind. At the end of your talk with Lucius yesterday, you had all but cleared out your desk-- ignoring the blatant stares of the interns, your fellow archivists, and even Lucius. You piled your things together into a box and left without another word.

Lucius gave you a long weekend off to prepare for your trip abroad. In your apartment, you enjoy waking up later, staying in your pajamas and catching up with a good book in the morning. But your mind is restless, and soon relaxing becomes multitasking. You go through your mail, bitterly reading the announcement you missed in the midst of your personal drama, and discover a forgotten invitation to visit Madam Wiggins.

A visit might be exactly the distraction you need... And well, she did say to come by _any_ time....

Sighing, you weigh the options. You can sit around in your pajamas all weekend, perhaps day-drink your way through a bottle of wine and cry about that two-timing sexpot of a man that frankly, doesn’t deserve you… _Or_ you can pull yourself together, put on a nice outfit, and pay your old mentor a visit. 

Dignity wins out, as it always does.

The cottage Lyla Wiggins lives in at the edge of Hogsmeade is surrounded by overgrown grass and swaying bursts of wildflowers. You can smell the rich, earthy fragrance of the soil as you step under a wooden criss-crossed arch and into the front garden. There’s a twisted stone path up to the door and you carry a basket full of goodies on your hip as you rap your knuckles on the weathered wooden door.

You see the smiling, small woman in the window wave to catch your eye before the door opens itself.

“Come in, dear.” She calls cheerfully from within.

You step in, ducking under the short door. The home is small, a bit cluttered, and quite warm. There’s a fire going, despite the heated summer weather and Madam Wiggins is wrapped in a knitted shawl. Her home is quaint and so lovely. As is often the case of wizarding homes, it’s much larger indoors than it appears to be from the outside.

You hand her the basket filled with books and baked goods, a platter piled high full of lemon squares that you remember her to love. She would often share hers with you back at Hogwarts when you helped her reshelve books after curfew.

“Are those lemon squares?” She leans over to the table to reach right into the basket and plucks one from the platter, smiling up at you. “Oh, you spoil me! Thank you.”

She smiles, looking you over through her thick glasses. “My, what a lovely young woman you’ve grown up to be.”

“Thank you, Lyla. Your home is very nice, thank you for inviting me.”

She smiles and gestures for you to take a seat on the couch across from the sweet little floral-upholstered chair where she sits.

“It’s not much, but it’s home."

You take a seat opposite, and she grabs another lemon bar.

"So,dear, you finished the assignment early, I take it?”

You smile proudly. “I most certainly did. Finished just a week ago.”

She gives you an approving nod. “Good girl. I bet that prim, uptight young man was quite surprised by how fast you finished.”

You smirk at her description of Lucius. “I imagine he was.”

You sigh, if only you could relive the shocked look on his face. It had been priceless.

The part that came after, though, you wish you could forget... His arms reaching out for you, his words pleading for you to stay as if he actually cared.

He didn’t. Did he?

He bought your company…. Though, it was hard to believe it truly was for _your_ benefit.

His actions were hard to read. In the beginning of your stay at the manor, he despised you as much as you despised him. Then… he didn’t. He tried to woo you. Had his change in behavior been part of some elaborate scheme to bed you or enact some petty revenge?

No... yesterday he had been so caring, so insistent you shouldn't quit. If he wanted to end your career in an act of revenge, he would have done so immediately on his first day. Why would he continue the banter, the following you to lunch, if he wanted his fiance and he didn’t want you?

Deep down, you know he meant what he said yesterday, but then... he had kissed Narcissa. He had said things to Narcissa and her grandmother that directly contradicted what he and Marcus had told you about the supposed 'arranged marriage'.

But when she was there, he hadn't shown interest in her. Not really. He had come to _your_ defense when the border had been breached, not hers. He hadn’t reacted to her tryst with Marcus with anything other than indifference.

It didn’t make sense. It was messing with your head. Either Lucius Malfoy was insane, or he cared about you more than he let on.

But then _why_ had he kissed Narcissa?

No, you won’t continue to torture yourself over this.

“Uh oh,” Lyla says, peering at you over her half-moon spectacles with squinted eyes. You flush, realizing you'd been stuck in your thoughts. “Has young Lucius gotten you into trouble then? I imagine you will have bashed heads now and again after being together for such a length of time.”

“Something like that…” You nod, staring at the fireplace for a moment.

On the mantle, there’s pictures of Lyla when she was younger. Pictures of her standing alongside a smiling brunette woman and a stern man that looks _exactly_ like-

“Would you like to see my garden?” She asks, studying you intently. It seems like she wants to offer more than a view of her garden. You feel one of her sage lectures coming on, but then again, isn’t that why you came? You desperately needed a change of perspective.

You nod carefully, turning back to her. “Sure, I’d love that.”

You offer her your arm to help her from her chair, but she scoffs, pushing it aside to _accio_ her walker. As soon as she’s gripped the handle, it bends, pulling her upright with a snap that is worryingly quick.

She grunts, adjusting to being on her feet, before nodding towards the backdoor. Together you step out into the endless backyard. She lives at the end of town, and behind her home is an open expanse of hillside with a breathtaking view of the small lake and waterfall below. She stands still for a moment, smiling in the sunlight and the soft breeze that ruffles her short, curly hair. You imagine this must be the perfect place to be retired. It's peaceful. 

Together, you look out over the hillside, just standing in silence.

“Lucius Malfoy.” She says softly, so quiet you almost don’t hear her. “He was a kind little boy. Kind like his mother.”

You blink, surprised at her choice of topic. Then again, you were sure you’d just seen a photo of her with... “You knew Lucius’s mother, didn’t you?”

She gives you a sly smile. “Yes, dear. I _had_ been at Hogwarts quite some time before you arrived, don’t you know?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“Ah, ah. Don’t interrupt.” She says in her stern, affectionate voice that gives you an unexpected wave of nostalgia.

Oh, to be a teenager again, worried that you might be in trouble for speaking too loudly in the library in front of ‘mean old’ Madam Wiggins. You never saw her as mean like the others did, merely a woman with strong principles. Still, you would worry. You worried as a teen that you might fail a class, or, comically, worried that you’d never fit in to magical society. It all seemed so small now, so insignificant in the face of worrying if the first man to ever set your soul on fire would turn out to be the worst thing that ever happened to you.

“Yes, I knew Lucius’s mother, from when she was quite young.” Lyla smiles.

Her eyes dance with mischief, like she knows she shouldn’t be telling you this.

“Like you,” Lyla continues, “She often spent her free time in the Library, poring through every novel she could get her hands on. Coincidentally, a young Abraxas Malfoy began to study there quite often, seating himself at a table near hers, just to watch her. He was shy, but very composed, and obviously infatuated, I’d say… from their second year onwards.

“Whenever she put a novel away, he would wait, and then go over and pick it up, flipping through its contents. I never mentioned it to her, but anyone could see he cared for her. It took him almost an entire year to go over and speak to her, and when he did, they were instant friends. She was always exceedingly friendly, while he was very serious. I think they were a good balance.

“Yes, the late Mrs. Malfoy was a very kind soul. She was always asking me for book recommendations, making conversation with me, offering help. We kept up correspondence after she graduated, even after they married. Though, after they married her life seemed to take a turn for the worse. She was isolated, lonely in her massive estate and in her marriage, even after she gave birth to her son. He forbid her from keeping company that he did not approve of.

“She believed that having a child would fix the loneliness she felt in her relationship, because Abraxas was gone most of the time, working. His life’s legacy was restoring his name to greatness. A noble feat which sacrificed him a great deal. He never seemed able to just be... _present._ Always doing so many things at once... So his wife would come to visit me in London often with her son, starting when he was just a toddler. I shared my favorite books with her and we would discuss them at length.

“Abraxas had very fixed opinions on mugglemade literature, but his wife adored all stories, no matter who wrote them. She kept a secret collection of them, mostly ones I gave her myself, though I know not if Abraxas ever discovered them. I’m sure he did, he would have burned them all. She always insisted to me that he knew, but turned the other cheek for her benefit. That he truly loved her, and only wanted her happiness. I wasn’t so sure.

“Lucius was like a nephew to me before she passed. He was eight years old, then. I didn’t see him again until he was eleven. By then he was a stern, serious young thing. Humorless and unkind. No doubt his father’s doing.

“Abraxas was terribly… misguided. He’d always tried to control his wife, tried to control everything in his life to keep it from falling apart or fading away. Strong, and determined. That’s how she described him. Merlin knows she loved him unconditionally. She was certain she could teach him to see the error of his ways someday. To live in the now, to know his son before his life had passed him by. But then she grew sick. Illness, of course, is something magic can’t always heal, and she changed. She found herself becoming more like him. She tried to make him happy while she could. She tried to give him more children, despite her illness.”

Lyla frowns, staring down at the lake below. Her shoulders shake with her heavy exhale.

“She died in vain, trying to make him happy. I knew she had been troubled, but not to the extent that she would risk everything. When she passed, I imagine Lucius was never the same.”

You nod, feeling a pang of pity for the lonely young boy who made a time capsule, wanting to connect with someone, anyone. After his mother passed, he was probably even more lonely.

“I gave him space at Hogwarts. It wasn’t until he had matured into a young man that he began to seek my company again. He didn’t speak much, but he’d come into the library to study alone. Occasionally he would ask about his mother. Then he’d be silent for weeks on end.

Lyla shrugs.

“I imagine in some ways, he was seeking ways to feel close to his mother by being there. His little followers were often busy elsewhere, pranking and bullying---bored by his quiet nature. In the Library, no one was expecting anything of him. It was his place of peace, I imagine.”

Lyla smiles, facing you again, “Just like that of a certain young muggleborn woman I came to know.”

You smile warmly at her. “Well, you certainly made the library feel like a second home.”

Lyla returns the smile, nodding. “Yes, it was peaceful for a time. That is, until the two of you noticed one another.”

Your mouth falls open, and you laugh. “How do you know about that?”

“Well, I saw you leaving one day, fuming. I wandered over to the alcove you came from, just casually looking to see what was happening like the nosy old bat I am, and it was just... Lucius. Of course, I was fond of the both of you, so I kept an eye on you the next time the both of you were in the same room, and I wasn’t disappointed. You both were watching eachother curiously. Of all the places to sit in the library, you both continued to choose that little alcove. It went on for months.” Lyla chuckles.

You watch her, jaw dropping as you listen to her recount her version of your first meeting. “We did, didn't we? I suppose I've forgotten.”

“Imagine my surprise. Two of the brightest, most diligently studied pupils in your year, and you despised one another.” She laughs again. “But neither of you wanted to budge. Oh, it was fun to watch. I was curious, so I brought it up to the professors. Slughorn mentioned off-hand that you two had never interacted in your classes, but were both exceptionally bright.”

You are speechless, imagining the professors casually discussing your petty rivalry with Lucius. Slughorn, you could see, but Lyla?

You shake your head, smiling. “I had no idea that those employed at Hogwarts were all such terrible _gossips!_ ”

Lyla snorts. “You have no idea, dear. In fact, you were not the first pair we discussed, nor the last. Some even went so far as to seat students together in hopes they would hit it off.”

“Scheming, matchmaker professors... I can hardly believe it.” You shake your head, laughing. “Has it ever worked out, then?”

Lyla grins. “I believe so. In fact, Minerva received an invitation not long ago to the wedding of a pair of young Gryffindors. A pair, which many of us shamefully partook in a scheme to set up, even though at first they couldn’t stand one another. It was a legendary rivalry that spanned more than five years and caused many detentions. Come their sixth year, even Dumbledore was in on it. None of us knew if he cared at all, up until that point. Then, he decided to give things the final push along and make them Head Boy and Head Girl.”

You gasp.

“He _didn’t._ ” Head Boy and Girl shared a private dormitory. Which meant that a headmaster knowingly allowed…

“Oh, but he most certainly did.” Lyla smiles wickedly.

You shake your head in disbelief, before sighing.

“Everything I thought I knew is a lie.”

Lyla gives you a sideways glance, snorting.

“Don’t be dramatic, dear. Just what have you discovered to be a lie?”

You sigh, shrugging.

“Oh, I don’t know. I thought that professors didn’t care about our silly teenage dramatics, that Lucius’s parents were an arranged marriage, just like his upcoming wedding will be.” You pause, sighing. “At this point, I won’t be surprised if you tell me that Emily Bronte really _wasn’t_ a muggle.”

Lucius had planted the seed of doubt in your mind, after all. And not just about Wuthering Heights. You don't know what's true and what isn't anymore.

Lyla grins. “Do you not know?”

You shake your head, biting your lip as you refocus on the conversation. “Know what?”

“Oh, splendid!” Lyla laughs, her walker hoisting her to her feet again. “Come on, I have something to show you."

The back room of Lyla’s home is an impressively dusty library. She leads you to a small desk, pushing a stack of papers around.

“Now, I imagine the last time I saw it, it was here…” She mutters to herself, opening box after box. "It's been a while."

“What are you looking for?”

She gives you a stern look. “Hush.”

“Should I make myself comfortable?” You ask, smirking.

She fixes you with her stern look again, but is too distracted searchingto reply.

“Here! Here it is.” She brushes the dust off with a flick of her wand. She holds it out to you with a smug look.

You take it from her, scanning over it. It’s an aged certificate of authenticity stamped with an old magical seal. It's an official literary contract that served as a bill of sale back during the Victorian era. Something you'd learned about in university.

**_‘...That on this day the ownership of this novel written by muggle author Emily Bronte transfers to…’_ **

“Is this…?” You whisper in awe.

Lyla nods.

“It’s an official record for a copy of Wuthering Heights, second edition. A rare blue, leather-bound novel that belonged to my grandmother. My grandmother knew the Bronte sisters personally, and advocated for the sale of Emily’s novel in wizarding London. Emily discovered our world by accident, and was fascinated with the ghosts she met. Her novel was based on their life story. It was highly controversial at the time, a muggle written novel about magical kind… Passion interrupted by hatred and classicism. Nonetheless, she was a muggle. I gifted my grandmother’s second edition copy to a lonely young witch more than a decade ago.”

“Lucius’s mother.” You whisper.

“Y-yes.” Lyla gasps. “It was, how did you-”

“It was in the library…” Your heart thuds, and you have an idea. “Lyla, can I make a copy of this?”

Lyla gives you a knowing smile. She shrugs, walking out of the room and into the front of her house “You can have it, darling. Put it to good use.”

You should feel insulted, really, at how quickly the old woman pushes you out the door, but instead you feel giddy and righteous. Lucius had been wrong from the very beginning, and you can’t wait to rub it in his face. He was wrong, both about you _and_ about Wuthering Heights.

Your spirits are much higher as you apparate back to London.

You know what you want, now. You want Lucius to realize how ridiculous he is about muggle prejudice, how wrong he’s been. You want him to tell you he wants to be with you, that he wants to call off his wedding. But that’s just letting your hopes run wild.

You climb several flights of stairs, formulating your plan.

Hope is dangerous to hold onto at this point, four weeks until Lucius’s wedding day, but if he saw the error of his ways, maybe he’d apologize, but… to... _be waiting in the hallway outside the door of your flat?_

You blink, frozen where you stand on the last step up to your floor. Lucius is right there, arms crossed over his chest as he paces in front of your door with a scowl. At the end of the hall, he kicks a wall, before turning towards you. It's then his icy blue eyes meet yours, and he startles, dropping something in his hand.

"Er..." He rubs the back of his neck, the tips of his ears looking almost pink for a moment, as if he were blushing. He clears his throat, picking up the paper from the floor. "Hello..."

Yes, you're sure of it, now. Lucius Malfoy here, and he's _blushing._

_Well, this is certainly unexpected._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will likely be upping the chapter count because this went on longer than expected.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius visits you before you leave for Paris. In Paris, you run into a familiar face in an unexpected place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi lovely readers, I am currently not feeling well and will be responding to your comments when I feel better. just know I read them and I feel the love, thank you all for being so kind and supportive. <3

**You blink, wondering if the faint pink tinge in Lucius’s ears might be a figment of your imagination. But it isn’t.** He straightens up, arms falling to his side as you step into the hallway. His face doesn’t seem to know if it wants to smile, and he settles on a familiar scowl.

It’s almost endearing, the way he abruptly composes himself, eyes sweeping over your form. Pale blue irises penetrating you to your core. He’s looking at you the way only one man ever has, and you can’t help but draw your lower lip between your teeth to fight a smile.

He’s here. As if he simply can’t stay away from you. _Maybe hope isn’t so dangerous after all…_

“Where were you?” He asks in a tone of mild irritation, eyes scanning over you once more, now with suspicion. “I’ve been here an hour.”

“Been to visit a friend.” You reply, shrugging.

Though it’s only been a day, you have felt the absence of his particular brand of charm. The bastard kind. His abrasive and endearing personality. There’s a small sense of comfort with him being here, waiting on you to return.

He nods, stepping back to allow you access to your door. You turn the key, and he seemingly expects to follow you inside before you fix him with a stern look.

“Can I help you?” You keep your tone calm, but neither friendly nor inviting. 

“May I come in?” He asks, looking irritated. There’s that tinge again.

“Hmmm.” You tap your lips, drawing out your consideration. Oh, how you adored opportunities to tease Lucius Malfoy.

Sure, your flat was clean, but you truly enjoy watching him squirm. He deserves to feel as unsettled by you as he makes you.

“You may come in…” He moves to enter, but you place a hand on his chest, halting him.

Which is a mistake, because then you’re _touching him_. You try not to focus on how firm his chest is under your hand, a hand which lingers for a few moments too long. He studies you curiously, a sly smirk appearing as you swallow thickly, jerking your hand back.

“Only if you ask nicely.” You finish, barely above a whisper.

His eyes are lidded in a dark gaze. An arrogant smile lifts the corners of his lips. It only adds to the qualities of his handsome face and your heartbeat stutters.

“Estella.” He says, voice dropping an octave lower. “May I come in, _please?_ ”

His voice _does_ things to you. It’s dangerous. You relent, opening the door wider and stepping back.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” You say.

You grin, and he gives you an assessing look, standing over you for a moment as he steps past you into your flat. He chooses not to comment. The smug smile on his face says everything.

It seems the two of you are helpless not to flirt, to banter like this. It comes naturally. It always has.

You watch his eyes sweep over your flat as you hang your bag on the wall and remove the scroll from the large pocket. Now would be the perfect opportunity to tell him about Wuthering Heights. He steps into your living room, looking over your wall of books. He says nothing.

“Tea?” You ask.

He's still facing away as he takes a look around.

“Yes, thank you.” He says aloud a moment later, uncharacteristically civil and warm in tone while looking out the window.

He must not know what to do with himself in a moderately sized home. There’s nothing grand about your apartment, but it’s good enough for you. You walk from your living room into the small kitchen and flick your wand to heat your kettle.

You set out some of your lemon squares on a tray, imagining the look on his face when he finds out he was wrong about wuthering heights. He might have a stroke. Perhaps he’d storm angrily out. Maybe steam would come out of his ears.

Before you know it, you’re sat next to Lucius on your simple couch. There’s two mismatched teacups on the table in front of you and the tray of lemon squares, sugar cubes, and milk.

He sits so stiffly, still staring at the objects in your home with an insatiable curiosity, only thinly covered by his usual veil of indifference. You take his silence as an opportunity to slide off your heels and sit comfortably, one foot tucked beneath you as you turn towards him.

“I…” He begins, then trails off as he faces you, eyes dropping to your bare feet and the way your skirt has shifted up your thighs in your current seating position. He clears his throat. “I have booked your stay and arranged the meeting with the Eastern European offices.”

You nod. “Thank you.”

He nods in return, staring at his untouched tea. He sets the saucer back down without taking a sip. “Well... I will not continue to occupy your time against your will.”

He sets two charcoal-colored envelopes on the coffee table, and then stands before you can respond. You watch him with wide eyes as he puts distance between the two of you, walking towards the wall of books. When he gets there, he looks back at you. He opens and closes his mouth, before beginning to pace back and forth. You remain silent, waiting for him to say whatever he feels he needs to say.

This would probably be the last chance for him. Yesterday you couldn’t bear it, but today you feel stronger. You can take the rejection. Then you can shove Wuthering Heights in his face and shove him out the door and move on.

Yes. That’s what you’ll do.

But then he doesn’t speak. He only walks along your wall, his elegant hand trailing across a series of hardbound novels, stopping on a particularly worn spine.

 _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ by Oscar Wilde.

Another muggle novel. Hmm. You decide not to comment. 

Finally, he speaks.

“The top envelope labeled ‘Itinerary’ contains the information for your hotel accommodations, your contracted pay and benefits for this assignment, and contact information for your new associates.” He pauses, glancing back at you as if to ask for permission before removing the book.

You nod silently, still in awe that he’s here in your apartment, not acting like a complete bastard. In fact, he's not really saying anything. It’s throwing off your game. Perhaps it’s because he’s in your domain now, or it’s because of your conversation yesterday. Maybe it’s because of the wonderful day you’ve had, but somehow he feels less... intimidating.

Is he nervous? You don't know what to do with a nervous Lucius Malfoy. Except watch. And wait.

He eyes the cover with interest, and your handmade bookmark peeking out from it. You’d read it a few times before, enjoying the prose of Wilde with the pen marks and underlining from the past owner. It was secondhand, much like most of your collection.

“You can borrow it, if you like.” You tell him softly. 

“It’s mugglemade, is it not?” He responds, still thumbing through the pages thoughtfully.

“Indeed.”

He stiffens and closes it with a snap. “No, I’m fine, thank you.”

He slides it back onto the shelf. He squares his shoulders as he turns to face you. Then he clears his throat. “The second envelope-”

But something about that simple gesture of prejudice has your blood boiling. You can’t help but interrupt him, standing with a rage in your eyes.

“That wouldn’t be the first muggle novel you’d enjoyed, you know?”

His eyebrows lift and he grinds his jaw in irritation, likely at your interruption. He seems to hate interruption, and so you find yourself doing so often. Because he’s a bastard. He sighs, shoulders easing in tension.

“Nevermind that." He shakes his head. "The _other_ envelope-”

“I’ve been to visit dear old Lyla Wiggins today," You say, stepping towards him, "She gave me something that I’d like to give to you.”

His square jaw tightens again, and his eyes flash with some familiar passion, but he doesn’t look angry. He looks… amused? He takes another deep breath, composing himself.

“Oh?” He responds patiently. Which only angers you further.

Normally he’d argue with you. Why wasn’t he _arguing_ with you? You stomp over to where the scroll rests on your counter. You turn to stride back towards him, but find him right behind you.

There it is, that amused glint again as you startle at his proximity. Bastard!

“Let’s see it, then, shall we?” He says in that deep voice that vibrates through you. “Whatever it is certainly seems to have you quite… _worked up_.”

Wordlessly, because you have nothing civil to say, you thrust the scroll into his arrogantly waiting hand.

He opens it with a smug smirk, eyes trailing over the parchment. Then again. But the smile doesn’t falter.

“Hmmm.” His eyebrows lift, face composing itself into a warm smile. “It appears I was wrong after all.” He tells you in an even tone. Unbothered. 

He shrugs, tucking the scroll into the internal pocket of his robes.

“Yes! You were… wrong.” Your impassioned speech that you’d prepared before... Well, it can hardly pack a punch after an easy admittance like that. What was his game? Where was his fight? He wasn't fighting you at all on this. 

“It seems so.” His eyes twinkle with some silent amusement as he regards you, or is it warm affection? No… That’s a reach. “Is that all?”

“And you were wrong about me, too.” You tell him, waiting for him to finally snap back.

He nods agreeably. “Certainly, I was.”

His lips twitch upwards as you eye him warily. Your eyes narrow, but his body language is open, his tone sincere.

“I’m not some silly-minded mudblood.” You inform him matter-of-factly.

He nods again, smiling. “I know.”

And... this is not going as you expected. Not at all. Your shoulders slump, the fight dying within you.

He _knew_ , and still it didn’t matter.

You exhale shakily, staring at the floor. “And you’re still going to marry her.”

His gaze grows sharper, more watchful as your eyes meet his again.

“So it seems.” He answers evenly.

“Good.” You snap, sitting again. “Great.”

You glare up at him as he stands before you. His lips twitch upwards. It makes you want to slap him. But he says nothing else, just watching you like he… like he’s memorizing your face.

_Like this is goodbye._

“Well, go on, then. What’s in the other envelope?” You ask, irritably.

His smile slips through again. That handsome, genuine smile that was rare and happened to simultaneously be the best and worst thing that ever happened to you.

He doesn’t answer you right away, taking several long strides back to the bookshelf and plucking the worn novel from the shelf. He pockets it, then passes you on the way to the door.

“Open it in Paris.” He tells you cryptically.

Then he reaches for the door. You’re dumbstruck, but still find yourself calling out to him.

“Wait.” Your voice falters.

_This can't end like this._

He turns, facing you with an arrogant smirk. He takes a few confident steps in your direction.  
  
“Yes, Miss Hyde?”

You swallow the sudden dryness in your throat when in no time, he’s right in front of you. But you can't say it. 

“Goodbye.” You say weakly. Because you’re too proud to beg for this man. Even if you regret it later, you can’t bring yourself to say the words. _I don't want you to go._

He gravitates closer. He leans down, breath fanning across your lips. But at the last moment, he pulls back. He closes his eyes, brows furrowing as he exhales.

“Safe travels, Miss Hyde.” He tells you, before abruptly leaving.

And you feel neither closure or relief at his departure. 

That was it. That was your goodbye.

When you step through the international arrivals portal in the heart of Paris, you finally feel like you can breathe again. It’s Monday morning, the streets are bustling, and the city is truly magnificent. Just as you’ve seen in photos and paintings, Paris is quite romantic.

At a small outdoor cafe, you sit and drink tea. It’s nice being surrounded in the ambience of the gorgeous architecture and the lively people speaking in an unfamiliar tongue. It’s too early to be expected at the artist’s apartment or your hotel, so you wander the streets, thumbing through a few paperback novels at a market stall and watching an artist sketch an old building. You buy some fresh fruit and sit by the river, taking in the views.

It’s a dream. You wouldn’t mind living here, save for the language barrier. Still, as you watch a couple strolling along the Seine hand in hand, you can’t help but feel as if your melancholy has followed you here. The second envelope from Lucius weighs heavy in your pockets. The first contained handwritten directions to the hotel and the other was something you haven’t dared to open yet.

Just seeing your name his neat script makes you want to simultaneously sob and tear the paper up and throw it into the river. Because it's only been three days without seeing him, and you _miss_ him.

Still, you despised him for making you feel things for him, especially when there was no chance you could ever be together. He was cruel and a heartless bastard and still, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

So you refuse to open the second envelope. This trip is supposed to help you _move on._ If you read it, you’ll spend the next four weeks thinking of him, and you can’t do that to yourself. You owe yourself a chance at coming out of this unscathed, so you tuck the letter into your bag, and find directions to your new workplace.

The meeting with the Eastern European branch is over in only a couple of hours. They seem happy enough to have an extra pair of hands on deck. The staff is mostly male, and snooty, as the art types often are, but as you offer input, they _listen_. It’s a refreshing change of pace. The artist gives you an approving nod as you correct the terminology used to describe his technique in the printouts.

So far, the first day is a success.

Then it’s off to your hotel, and while you have some mild expectation of what you’re in for when you discover the address is within one of the ritziest parts of Wizarding Paris, nothing prepares you for the sheer extravagance of the lobby. There’s an enormous fountain in the lobby, a massive chandelier and lush greenery under a stained-glass dome.

A concierge rushes to take your luggage. When they see the name of the reservation, you’re being offered extensive apologies and a complimentary flute of champagne while they prepare finishing touches on your suite.

You blink, dumbstruck at how accommodating they are when they ask if you would enjoy a room with a view of the Eiffel Tower instead of a East-facing window. When you don’t answer right away, they wince, probably preparing for the worst. As if you were some spoiled socialite. When you smile, waving off their excessive apologies, they seem overwhelmed with relief. Then, as you’re sitting beneath a grand tree in the lobby, they bring over an entire bottle of champagne.

There’s a tree _indoors._ This place is beyond fancy. You’re not sure what to call it.

Magnificent, probably.

The suite Lucius booked for you is quite luxurious. You can’t help but feel a bit guilty knowing that if you were any other staff member and under Bertie’s employ, you’d be at some dusty motel, making due with a wiry mattress and a tiny bathroom. Instead, you have a plush king-sized bed and the most incredible view of the city. There’s a balcony, a walk-in shower and a tub with massive jets. You even get a plush bathrobe and chocolates on your pillows.

It’s spotless and the view is incredible. There’s even a bouquet of peonies and a card from Lucius that arrives shortly after you settle in.

**_’For my faithful servant. Enjoy Paris._ **

**_-L.’_ **

Your chest tightens. He did all this for you, but why?

All you want is to get him out of your head, but since you can’t and you won’t, you curl up on the silky sheets and take a nap instead.

The first week in Paris is busy. You fall easily into step with the team, working to prepare the artist’s work for an exhibition that will tour around the world. You need to make sure the handling instructions are clear and easy to follow, and have them translated and replicated for each piece. Then you would be archiving the rest of his work within his private studio, creating official records of his sales and his private collections.

It would be much more efficient with a team, especially this one. Each member is driven and thinks on their feet. They have the same energy as you, and it’s so refreshing, even if you can’t quite call them friends yet.

It’s on Friday that you unexpectedly find a familiar face amongst the others. Rolf, the German artist isn’t alone when you walk down the stairs from the loft where you’ve been working into the late afternoon. Reclined in one of the fancy leather armchairs is a familiar head of long honey blonde hair, and your stomach does a somersault as his eyes find yours.

“Marcus?”

You’re greeted with his charming smile immediately.

“Estella?” He laughs cheerfully. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Then he’s out of his chair and sweeping you up in his arms like you’re long time friends. He hugs you tightly, then kisses both your cheeks. You flush, averting the curious gaze of Rolf, your boss.

“So Lucius finally let you out of his sight, hmm?” Marcus winks, refilling his crystal glass with an amber liquid. Then he nods to his friend. “This is the girl I told you about.”

Rolf looks at you with renewed interest. “Oh?”

You shrug, smiling. “Only good things, I hope. Rolf here is my boss for the next three weeks, after all.”

You give Marcus a mock-stern look, channeling your inner-Lucius, before cracking a smile again.

Marcus laughs, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “But of course, lovely Estella.”

Rolf nods, “All good things.”

He takes a sip from his glass to cover a sly smile and you can’t help but imagine the nature of what Marcus may have said about you. Knowing Marcus, it was probably something scandalous.

“Come sit with us!” Marcus says, flicking his wand to summon another chair. But you have no plans to stay. It’s been a long week, and you want to tuck in for the night.

“I better not.” You say, shaking your head. “I’ve been warned about you, Marcus Gaunt.”

You give him a teasing wink as you make your way to the door. You want nothing more than a relaxing bath and some sleep. Your muscles are exhausted after hoisting charm-resistant artworks around the loft all week.

Marcus is hot on your tail, though. “By no other than Lucius Malfoy, I assume.”

“I’ll never tell,” You shrug, grinning. “But my answer remains that I better not. I was looking forward to a nice bubble bath in my hotel room anyway.”

“Oh?” His smirk stretches into a roguish grin. “I, too, enjoy bubble baths...”

Rolf snorts, and you laugh.

“That wasn't an invitation, I’m afraid.” You say, smirking.

Marcus sighs dramatically.

“Non? Ah, very well.” He grins again, “Well... at which hotel are you staying? Perhaps we can meet again for a tour of my winery.”

You hesitate, but relent, telling him the name. Sure, he’d obviously been with Narcissa, but he was the only person who could understand you right now. And he’d made it clear he was attracted to you. His intentions were nothing but clear from the start.

So you shouldn’t feel guilty, especially since Lucius will be married in three weeks. Marcus was right when he’d said weeks ago that _‘you cannot hold on to someone who is not holding you back’_

But then again as far as mixed signals went, Lucius reigned supreme. As much as you tried to harden your heart against him, your mind designed thoughts of him constantly. 

_What is he doing this weekend? Perhaps he’s at home, or maybe he’s with Narcissa._

If only you could stop thinking about him. Whatever he’s doing, it doesn’t matter. This is your chance to move on.

Still, you get a sinking feeling when you enter the room and stare at the wax-sealed envelope for the seventh day in a row. With your index finger, you trace the elegant script of your name. Even his handwriting is beautiful. Your fingertips linger on the closed charcoal-colored envelope, when there’s a sudden rattling at your balcony.

An owl, with an identical gray envelope in it’s beak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as a sidenote, the story is running much longer than I intended, so I have a few options:
> 
> 1\. I can add to the final chapter count, estimating about 38-40 chapters, including an epilogue--no sequel planned, I just like offering a peek into the future.
> 
> 2\. OR, I can make the chapters longer. 
> 
> haven't quite decided yet, but I will let you know. the word count/story content would be the same either way, but it affects the content in each chapter whether or not I extend the story chapter count.
> 
> anyway, finally getting to the parts I've had planned in my outline since chapter 1 and im so excited to wrap this up and give you all the smuts and fluffs and all that ending good stuff. 
> 
> again, I will reply to comments when I'm feeling a bit better. it still doesn't feel real that there's more than 4 people reading my stories now. like... way more than 4 people. wow. 
> 
> I'm so humbled by the kind things you guys say. y'all have no idea how much I needed the positivity you brought to my comment sections this past year. 
> 
> anyway, to end my rambling, take care of yourself please <3 have a wonderful weekend


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius deals with the fact that you don't want to speak to him. Plans are arranged with Marcus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> insert my usual apologies for missed typos and grammar errors :')

Lucius paced back and forth in front of his desk, tossing a small paperweight up and catching it in his hand. With each step he took, the dip between his brows furrowed deeper and his shoulders grew tenser in their ever-rigid posture.

“You did ensure the owl was sent, did you not?” He peered a sideways glance to Dobby, who nodded meekly.

“I did, sir.” Came the elf’s shaky reply.

“And you paid for the fastest available delivery, did you not?” Lucius’s voice was calm, with no signs of malice, but the elf began to shiver with fear anyway.

Too often had his former master taken out his frustrations on the elf for things out of his control.

Dobby gulped audibly, “Yes, sir.”

Lucius sighed, coming to a halt in his step and setting the paperweight back in its place. Every item had its place on his desk. His desk was always tidy. As was his mind, usually. He typically felt in control of most situations, thinking ahead and assuring the best possible outcome. But not today.

Today felt out of place. It nagged at him-- _gnawed_ at him. The uncertainty of the situation was nearly unbearable.

Not only had you not given any indication that you’d read his letter, but you had also failed to reply to his urgent- Ministry Class owl, which he had sent over _five hours_ ago. A letter rushed through floo networks and flown off with the fastest owls in the service would have been received by now, unless the bird died. Or you did.

He certainly hoped it was the former. That or perhaps your reply was taking longer than anticipated because you were writing in such great detail that you could not be rushed.

Lucius had never been so foolishly optimistic, though. Nor had he been prone to such ludicrous fantasies. He knew very well that you were upset with him, that you believed a falsehood he couldn’t quite yet prove wrong. That he wanted Narcissa to be his wife, not just out of duty. Yet his attempts thus far to clear the air between the two of you had gone miserably. Starting with his choice to begin work in the office and ending with his choice to say goodbye without kissing you, his choice to leave without _convincing you to stay._

What had come over him? Lucius was never less than self-assured… You were a crack in his armor and he was coming undone.

And now you had slipped through his fingers.

“And the owl was instructed to stay until she had replied, was it not?” Lucius verified, rubbing his chin as he began to pace again. He held eye contact with Dobby, waiting for his reply. Outwardly, he remained calm.

This time, the elf only nodded. Lucius sighed, meandering to the opposite end of the room in a distracted haze.

He didn’t understand. _Why hadn’t you responded, then?_ If there could be any confirmation that you hadn’t opened the second envelope, it was this.

The pacing went on for another half hour before he yielded impatiently. Dobby stood patiently awaiting his master’s decision.

“Well,” Lucius said succinctly, rolling his shoulders a few times as if to dust off the less-than-ideal outcome of his ploy to see how you were doing. Then he straightened up.

He imagined you alone in your hotel room, lonely. Surely you were only taking so long because you were writing out your reply. But what if you weren't?

Maybe it was only a clerical error. Perhaps your letter was being held at international customs.

There was only one other option remaining as a course of action. And he would have to take it.

“I suppose we have no choice, then, do we?”

Dobby agrees with a sly smile. “No, master.”

They shared a short conspiratorial look before Lucius gestured to the fireplace.

“Very well, you may go.”

And with a flash of green flames, the elf was gone.

You scoff, snatching the newest envelope from the bird’s beak. You hadn’t planned to open the second letter, _let alone a third_ , but this new envelope was stamped with a Ministry Class seal. It's the most expensive paid postage available. So expensive, that you’ve never actually seen the stamp before. You assume it must be important, but tear it open to discover it’s only Lucius badgering you for an update on your work.

_**Miss Hyde,** _

_**In the event it has slipped your memory, I must remind you that biweekly progress updates are required while operating on an assignment that keeps you away from the office. The hotel staff has been instructed to provide you with any needed stationary and to charge any international delivery fees to my account. I hope this amends any hesitation in writing your response.** _

_**Looking forward to your progress update.** _

_**Yours Sincerely,** _

_**Lucius A. Malfoy** _

_**C.E.O.** _  
_**Ancient Archives Association** _

Lucius really had some nerve. demanding a progress update on a project _you’d only just begun_. What on earth was wrong with him?

Never mind, you know the answer to that internalized question. Lucius Abraxas Malfoy is a _control-freak bastard_. That is what is wrong with him. And Just for the irritating tone of his message, you aren’t going to reply. You shoo the bird away, and it stares at you unyieldingly.

“Go on,” You tell the bird, pointing to the window. “I’m not responding, so you can leave now.”

The bird squawks irritably in response, fluttering its wings.

“I said no. Go _on_.” You open the door to the balcony again, gesturing to the open sky.

The bird stares you down for what feels like minutes, but your resolve is stronger. Without any further scruffles, the bird turns its beak up in the air haughtily and flies off. If Lucius wanted any response, he’d need an ounce of patience. And you’d certainly be using the opportunity to rack up some international charges.

But first, you’d make him wait. And it’s truly glorious, imagining his irritation as you choose not to reply at all that evening. Or the day after.

The longer you put it off, the more giddy you feel. Lucius _deserves_ to feel as angry as you are.

In fact, you’re almost cackling to yourself on Sunday as you make your way down to the lobby in the morning and pick out some new stationary to be charged to your room. You choose the most expensive options, naturally, just to be annoying. Then the concierge, a sleepy witch, directs you to a business area in the back of the lobby where you pen your reply. You bite back a chuckle as you dip the extravagant quill in the gilded inkwell and write in tiny letters:

_**Everything is going well.** _

And off you go to send it off. A four word reply. You can practically envision his perfectly full lips turning down into his trademark scowl as he reads it. You can imagine yourself sitting across from him in his office, spying the irritated, albeit amused glint in his eyes as he looks you up and down over the letter. He’d probably find some reason to berate you and you’d tell him to lighten up. Even though you like him exactly as he is. Uptight and bastardlike.

Here you are, thinking of him fondly again like a traitor to your own values. Was it too much to admit you missed him? The way he smelled--his warm, spicy cologne, his physical presence stirring butterflies, the mental back and forth you secretly adored… _his deep voice._

As angry as you are at him, you find yourself missing Lucius Malfoy at nearly every hour of the day. Tragic as it might be, you see him everywhere. Every corner you turn you hope to see him.

It’s pathetic, really.

Even after wanting space, wanting to forget him, you yearn for him. You even imagine every house elf that you see in passing looks just like Dobby.

Bug-eyed, hunching over as he did. In fact, even the elf at the mail desk looks _exactly_ like…

“Hello miss, any mail for a Miss Hyde today?”

His shrill voice is unmistakable. It _is_ Dobby. Dobby is here in Paris. Does that mean that _Lucius….?_

You dart behind one of the indoor trees, glancing around. You search the entire visible lobby, but fail to find him. Thus, you turn your attention back to the concierge counter.

The witch seems to scowl down at the elf until he passes her a note. You move closer to hear their conversation better.

“Mr. Malfoy asking after his employee again?” The tired witch tuts. “Very well.”

You gasp as the witch hands the elf a small stack of envelopes. Dobby thanks her, and then before he can step into the floo fireplace, you march over.

“Dobby!”

The elf jumps in the air, startled, before turning around. His enormous eyes grow impossibly wider, and he puts the stack of mail behind him.

You arch an unimpressed eyebrow at him, before holding out your hand.

“ _My mail_ , Dobby.”

Reluctantly, he removes the stack of mail from behind his back. Before giving the stack to you, though, he stares. The top letter is stamped with the Gaunt family insignia, and you know the elf catches sight of it as he hands it over. His grip does not loosen when you take the stack, eyes scanning over the return address of Marcus’s estate with wide eyes as he holds on for a moment longer. You pull harder, and he finally relents, handing the letters over.

You replace the stack with your four-word reply letter.

“This is my response to Lucius.” You tell the elf sharply, and ignore his wince. “And you can inform him that since my privacy cannot be respected, I refuse to communicate with him using anything other than a good old-fashioned telephone. If he finds himself incapable of procuring one, I’ll simply see him at the end of my assignment and relay any necessary information then.”

Dobby opens and closes his mouth like a fish. You barrel on, faintly amused by the idea of an uppity pureblood man like Lucius ever using a telephone. That will be the day when Hogwarts stops teaching magic and the sky is no longer blue. 

Some time around _never._

“And if he insists on sifting through my personal matters further like the insidious bastard _snake_ he is, the only letter he will be receiving from me will be my letter of resignation.”

“But, Miss-”

“Is he here?” You snap. You hate that part of you hopes he is here. That you just might just catch the pale blue gaze of those penetrating eyes.

“No, he’s-”

“Good.” You sputter, faintly disappointed beneath your simmering rage. “Goodbye Dobby.”

His mouth flounders, hanging open a bit, but you’re not sticking around for a response. You storm upstairs. Because even in another country, he still has a hold on you.

Well, to hell with Lucius Malfoy. You have a handsome viscount to visit.

“A _what?_ ” Lucius asked in disbelief.

“A telephone.” Dobby repeated, wincing. “I believe it’s a muggle device, sir.”

Lucius sighed heavily. Of course he wouldn’t own any kind of ridiculous muggle contraption such as that, and neither would one of the most prestigious hotels in Wizarding Paris. _Would they?_

Surely not.. and yet, he was running out of options. He needed to make sure you weren’t off, getting into trouble. Just a few more weeks. The last thing he needed was you visiting the Viscount. Not when he was so close.

If you were doing this to drive him mad, he had to credit you for being infuriatingly clever. Having no idea what you were up to was exactly enough to drive him mad.

No news from the Private detective thus far, but surely he would catch something... if you could only stay out of it a little longer.

From your single-word reply it was clear you hadn’t opened the letter he had given you in your flat. Your small, homely flat that simply did not suit you. Lucius knew you as a woman with a commanding presence, not some meek commoner or spinster. No, You deserved better. You were a fierce woman with ambition. And he adored you for it.

Yes, Lucius Malfoy was past the point of admitting to himself that he adored you. A muggleborn.

And he’d been an unbearable prick to you all along because you’d held a mirror to him, showing him his flaws and weaknesses. He’d been cruel to keep you at an arm’s length, to try prevent himself from desiring you as much as he did.

But it was like fighting against gravity. It was inevitable. Just as inevitable and undeniable as he was to be wed to Narcissa in three weeks. And now...

He’d given you reason to cry, to feel defeated. He’d royally screwed this one up.

Lucius knew he needed to fix this.

He eyed his elf warily, snatching up a sack of galleons and stepping into the floo network. He’d need help with this. If he could pull it off, it might be enough to buy him some time.

_Marcus is waiting for you in the lobby, a sly smirk already on his lips as he watches you descend the steps in a short black dress. His eyes rake over you in appreciation and triumph. You know exactly what he must be thinking. You sought him out, alone with no interruptions, which means you’re available. You’ve made yourself available to him, and you’ve dressed up, and you’re going to forget Lucius Malfoy._

_He brings your knuckles to his lips, and it’s warm and you flush and it’s nice. It really is._

_“A pleasure to see you again, Miss Hyde.” He offers his hand and you take it. He leads you out the entrance and whispers darkly in your ear. “You look divine. Please tell me_ this one _is for me. Tell me this dress is for me.”_

_You give him a sly smile, shrugging. “I don’t know what you mean.”_

_It is. You dressed up in this tight, body-hugging dress for one reason and one reason only. He knows it, you know it. The doorman even seems to knows it, wishing you both a wonderful day with that knowing glint in his eye._

_Marcus tugs you into an alleyway, and without any warning, his lips are on yours and you’re kissing him back and it’s nice to just forget everything for a few moments before you’re pulling back and whispering._

_“What was that about?” And even you can hear the breathless quality to your voice._

_His full lips turn upwards and he shrugs. “Oh, that? It’s just... something I've been wanting to do for a while now.” He gives you a wolfish grin._

_You roll your eyes, taking his hand as he apparates you to the countryside. A winery tour, he had said, was necessary while in France. His private tour apparently included a stroll through the grapevines and sitting by the fire of an extravagant chateau with an abandoned charcuterie board as your hands push off his suit jacket and your back is pressed into the rug as his hands slide up your skirt._

_It’s easy to blame this on the ten different wines you’ve sampled, likely enhancing your need to touch and feel his manly warmth, to come undone and forget the darkness clenching your chest as you run your hands through his long wavy hair hair and wish it were silkier, paler. Lucius’s. You can't help but wish the hands on your skin had rougher fingertips, a stronger, more demanding grip._

_And then suddenly they do. And instead of rolling around the floor by the fireplace at the vineyard, you’re laying on satin sheets as Lucius trails soft kisses along your collarbone._

_“I won’t be letting you go_ ever _again… Now, will I, Miss Hyde?” His velvety voice is your undoing. "You're mine."_

You wake from your nap in a daze, not even knowing what day it is. Thankfully it’s still Sunday and barely noon.

Still feeling like you’re in a dream, you pen your reply to Marcus in record time, confirming your plans to meet in a few hours, and take a cold shower. You need to get out of this room. You need a distraction from anything that reminds you of Lucius. 

Marcus replies by owl to your room and informs you what time he will be by to pick you up.

Perfect.

Tonight you will forget about Lucius Malfoy. The bastard extraordinaire who can't seem to give you even a shred of space to move on. Not even in your dreams

It was as if he just wanted to string you along. But you are no one’s mistress, and you won’t give your heart to a man whose own heart belongs to someone else.

And... you did enjoy Marcus’s attentions, after all. He’s straightforward and charming. Unlike the icy, irritating bastard who has clearly found a way to get under your skin.

You slip on a slinky red dress, the color of a rich merlot, and style your hair. It’s warm out, and is forecasted to stay so well into the evening. No stockings then, just a matching set of lingerie and some strappy heels. A gold pair of earrings and you’re done.

You can do this.

The doorman greets you with a smile as he holds the door for you, which gives you a brief sense of deja-vu, and you step out onto the bright sunny sidewalk. It already feels like summer, though it’s only the end of May. The occasional gust of wind is welcome amid the heat. You don’t want June to arrive for a number of reasons, and for far more than the sweltering heat. The biggest reason is weighing heavily in your small purse.

A letter from the man you can’t forget. The one who is promised to another. To be wed in June. Only weeks away.

You stare at the envelope for a while, half-wishing you'd just left it in the hotel, and partly thinking you might as well get it over with before your night with Marcus. It’s not like you to be so… _stuck_ on one man. The world is full of charming, handsome, not-at-all-bastard-like men.

Sure, they might not all have wit like Lucius, or his hard-to-earn laughter. Nor his strength, his _body._ His very capable hands that set your body aflame.

But you just want to move on… right? Marcus will be the perfect escape from the gnawing feeling in your gut. He’s easy to talk to and he wants you.

Lucius doesn’t.

Marcus won’t be meeting you for another twenty minutes or so, so you’ve decided to just read the contents of the unopened envelope and then go on to have a wonderful evening with a charming viscount. You stand atop a short bridge over the river in the small slice of Wizarding Paris, his proposed meeting spot, and stare at the seal on the envelope.

It takes a swell of courage, but your fingertips eventually move to pull on the wax seal.

But it doesn’t budge, and you want to laugh. Of course it would be difficult. How fitting.

With a last tug, the seal finally frees itself, and you have to grip the parchment tightly to keep it from flying away in the breeze.

Then you can put it off no longer.

**_My Faithful Servant,_ **

_**I understand that you don’t want to see me around the office anymore. If you decide to return, I will arrange for someone else to head the office in my leave, but I must ask again for you to consider your decision regarding your employment carefully.** _

_**You once told me that you wanted me to be happy, that you hoped I had a fantastic life. Please understand that I only wish the same for you. I want you to have everything you’ve ever dreamed of. I can think of no one better deserving.** _

_**It may be difficult for you to believe this to be true, but I can assure you that you have devastated my life in the most necessary way. Though at present the path set before me remains the same, I must confess that for the first time, I wish that things could be different. When you arrived at my home, you brought into question the very belief system that all I know has been founded upon. As hard as I have tried, I cannot hold your predetermined status over you when your work speaks so clearly for itself.** _

_**You were correct when you told me that I would regret my words someday, because the more time I have spent knowing you, the more I have been impressed by your tenacity and strong will. Your grace and perseverance in the face of adversity. Of all of the women I have known, you are the most admirable in every way.** _

_**I was wrong about you. You have unraveled me to my core.** _ _**And so I must admit that the words I spoke to you that night in front of the ballroom were true, and not one word of it was a charade. Not to me.** _

_**You have enraptured me mind and soul and I wish for you to know that you have, albeit irritatingly so, changed my mind. I can only offer my apologies for the way I have spoken to you in the past, as if you were someone beneath me--when truthfully, you have proved yourself my equal in every way. No matter your choice, you will always be held highly in my regard for as long as I live.** _

_**I must ask you not to give up on your life’s work. I believe that you have the capacity for greatness, and I wish to aid you to it in any way I can.** _

_**I hope that you enjoy your time in Paris. I want you to know that I meant what I said when I told you that my only goal in acquiring the AAA is to aid you in your career aspirations. As we have been at odds for longer than not, you may doubt my intentions, and I will not blame you for doing so. Please believe me when I say that I bid you no harm, not now or ever. It may not have begun so, but it is now the truth.** _

_**Please take this time in Paris to show the industry what a formidable force you are. Until then, I will be awaiting your return.** _

_**Yours,** _

_**Lucius**_

And before you can even process the swirling storm of emotions that arises within you, you see your date. _Marcus._ He flashes a row of perfectly white teeth as he saunters across the bridge towards you in a perfectly tailored suit. It’s pinstriped, a bit ostentatious, and ever so _fitting_ for a cad like him.

He’s undeniably handsome, and he’s eyeing you with exactly the lustful look you’d been hoping for when you selected this dress. It’s easy to smile back at him. You desperately need a distraction, now more than ever.

So why, oh _why,_ do you suddenly have this sinking feeling in your gut? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly I'm too exhausted to write a proper note here. how about a fun fact instead? Our dear Luci in this fic is inspired (in part) by Christopher Plummer's character Captain Von Trapp from the Sound of Music. Though I can't exactly mourn someone I've never met, his recent passing did give me cause to revisit the movie. I love a good story about the thawing of a frigid bastard's heart.
> 
> that's all my sleepy sick brain has to offer. thank you all for your sweet comments, you cheer me up tremendously. 
> 
> oh! and also it seems I will be going with a higher chapter count rather than longer chapters. I only have the time and energy to write in shorter bursts lately. I still estimate around 38-40 chapters, including an epilogue. 
> 
> next chapter will be a longer interaction with Marcus. have a fantastic week and take care!


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus treats you to a private wine tasting and offers you a proposition.

The Chateau de Gaunt vineyards are nothing less than picturesque. A warm breeze rolls through the lush green trees, shaking the leaves as you watch them through the glass of an ornate carriage that takes you through the grounds. The city is lovely, but this is something else entirely. It’s expansive greenery and beautiful landscaping. This is the French countryside, and it’s beautiful. Utterly romantic.

You can’t quite see what force pulls the carriage forward. Thestrals, perhaps, like at Hogwarts, or maybe some other enchantment… But that’s not what you’re thinking about. You’ve been lost in thought since your arrival to Bordeaux, pondering Lucius’s unexpectedly heartfelt letter as you watch the hills of grapevines roll by.

Marcus sits across from you, rather than right next to you, and you’re thankful for the physical distance. You can’t think straight. How could you, after reading such… such trifling flattery. Lucius didn’t want you to quit and he wanted to stay in your life. Psh. Of course he didn’t. He wants to have his cake and eat it too. And of course, had he been single, had he been at all civil when you first met, things might be different. But you are no one’s mistress.

What about what _you_ want?

All you know is you haven’t stopped thinking of him since you left the manor. Yes, you want him, but it still feels like a fantasy, like your feelings are unrequited. He made his opinion of you so clear for so long it’s hard to believe differently now.

Sure, Lucius ignited something within you that no other man could, he went through all that wooing and effort to be near you at the AAA, but until that letter, you assumed he had some ulterior motive. And yet, the only thing he has proved is that he wants to marry Narcissa. In fact, he hasn’t exactly convinced you that he would be worth waiting for. That’s why you’re in France, after all, and with another man.

Lucius has some incredible audacity to say that he… was wrong about you. That you had unraveled and enraptured him

What sort of game is that? What is his angle, making your heart flutter at such drabble? It can’t truly just be a grand scheme to keep you from quitting. That would be far too much effort to keep you from moving on to other employment. But _what_ then?

Whatever game this is, he’s already won, because you’re sitting across from another man who you’re very much attracted to, and you feel nothing. No excitement or butterflies. You’re just… here. You’re still thinking about him. Lucius bloody Malfoy.

Whatever you’re feeling must be evident on your face, because when you turn from the carriage window, Marcus is studying you with a calculative gaze. When you meet his eyes, he tilts his head with clear curiousity.

“So. At last you accepted my invitation.” He says simply, stretching an arm lazily over the top of his seat. He leans back with a relaxed posture.

He looks like he owns a vineyard, dressed as he is. Normally, that would be exactly your type. Self-assured men with no pretenses. Before you had spent nearly two months in the company of the bastard, you might have already found yourself in Marcus’s lap, kissing his full lips and entwining your fingers in his long hair. Removing all those pesky suit layers.

But now you’re ruined for any other man.

Bastard. You curse the day you walked into his home.

“Indeed.” You respond, still in a bit of a daze.

“I am glad you did. But I must admit to wondering… why?” He asks, gaze penetrating yours with an unreadable expression.

You shrug. “A few reasons, actually. Mainly, I wanted to come.”

He nods, sparing you only a brief moment of respite from his studying eyes as he glances out the window.

“Hm.” He says, seeming unsatisfied with your answer. “Allow me to rephrase. You came to Paris alone, with no… attachments. Did you not?”

“Yes.” You say, tilting your chin upward. “No attachments.”

Your answer seems to send him into a pensieve silence, all whilst he continues to stare at you, trying to read you.

“None at all?”

“None.” You reply truthfully.

This trip is your first international assignment and you intended to remove yourself from all of your problems. You wanted to get perspective, and now’s a better chance than ever.

“Good.” He claps, grinning. It doesn’t seem to meet his eyes, though. “Let’s enjoy ourselves, then.”

You offer him a smile in agreement.

The carriage comes to a stop at a snap of his fingers, and he is swift to open the door and hop out. He lands lithely on his feet and offers you his hand. You take it, laughing as he helps you from the carriage.

“Let’s go.” He says, holding on to your hand and tugging you in the opposite direction of the large chateau ahead.

You open your mouth, then close it, confused. Wasn’t this a wine tasting? Didn’t you need to go to some kind of tasting room in order to…

“You are about to ask me, ' _Marcus, where are we going_?' ” He grins wickedly. “Yes?”

You nod, following him apprehensively into the expansive orchard on the left of the gravelly driveway and away from the hills of grapevines.

“I assure you, dear Estella, some things are better left as surprises.” He continues, giving you a warm smile. “So you will simply have to come along to see.”

You grimace, picking your shoe up from where it dips deep into the damp ground. Marcus notices, leading you to a drier patch of dirt to walk on.

“At least tell me there will be wine. There is going to be wine, isn’t there?”

Indeed there is wine. Your eyes take a good minute to adjust to the dimly lit inside of the building after staring into the bright sunlight for so long as Marcus pours you both a glass.

It’s a cellar, elaborate with glass cases of thousands of bottles that stretches up into an extended ceiling. Expanded by magic, the richly treated wood and candles are very warm and cozy. It smells like wine. A sweet, rich fragrance.

Together you sit at a small table with a few bottles sitting on ice. The charcuterie looks divine. Cheeses and baguettes and nuts and fruit. Some dried meats and what looks like honeycomb. It’s all quite nice and it looks delicious.

“Wow.” You grin. “Everything looks great.”

“Oh, this?” He shrugs, “It’s nothing. I told you, only the best for my guest. So how is Lucius?” He offers in way of small talk.

You shrug, smirking. So much for not thinking of him. “Same as ever.”

His gaze glints with mischief as he cuts a slice of cheese. “That bad?”

You smirk, eyeing the bottle from which he poured your glass.

“No comment.” You answer neutrally. “Now, what sort of special enchantments are in store for me today?” You ask, eyeing your generous ‘tasting’ portion. “Are you trying to get me drunk today Mr. Gaunt?”

You offer him a teasing smirk. But really, you are a bit curious and cautious about drinking anything concocted by Marcus Gaunt. The last time you had his wine, you had ended up with Lucius on top of you, in your bed.

You blink for a moment as you snack on a small slice of cheese and try to tear your thoughts away from the subject that seemed to take up permanent residence in your head.

Lucius, Lucius, Lucius. Could you think of nothing else? You lift your glass, swirling it.

“Me? Attempt to intoxicate you? _Never._ ” He says, grinning as he lifts his own glass. “Charm you perhaps… seduce you even.... But _never_ intoxicate.”

You flush, shaking your head at his suggestive words. Still a cad, it seems. But he’s also the only person who understands how you feel. Cast aside for a better suited option. In his case, it’s Lucius.

But here in this room, it was just the two of you.

You try a sauvignon blanc and a pinot gris. Each has a little hint of something, but nothing too noticeable. It’s lighthearted conversation and delicious food and drink. It’s just what you need. You feel relaxed, chatting about Rolf and your impression of Paris. Marcus is easy to talk to, and you feel completely in control.

You even forget about Lucius for a while. The topic of the wedding is avoided entirely. Until you ask about the champagne.

“Ah, yes.” Marcus says, smile faltering as he looks to the bottle you’re pointing at. “A wine that was chosen for the wedding of the century.”

You sigh. “She chose your wine? How cruel.”

Marcus shrugs, face looking harder as he stands up abruptly. “Would you like to try some?”

You can’t help but notice the manic shift in his energy. He looks less smarmy, more determined.

You find yourself nodding, and then he disappears into the back room.

Marcus emerges from the back room with two flutes. He hands you one and you take it.

“To the happy couple.”

You sigh, repeating the words. Your glasses touch with an unenthusiastic clink.

“Does she know you love her?”

He only nods.

“And still she chooses him.” You say softly. “Even though the two of you could be so…”

You can’t finish your sentence. It’s too sad to bear. Likely due to the amount of odd potioned wines you’ve sampled. You don’t even notice for a moment that you’ve touched a sore spot in the conversation. It becomes apparent a moment too late that Marcus is scowling into his glass. The charming, grinning cad is gone, now.

“Sorry.” You offer.

He shakes his head. Then his gaze snaps up to yours. “And what of you and Lucius?”

“There is nothing between myself and Lucius.” You lie easily.

Just because you can’t have him, it doesn’t mean you’re going to go and tell everyone about your little affair.

But then the mood has shifted into something sour. Marcus stands again, seeming frustrated, or insulted, or angry.

“I have one more for you to try.” He says curtly, standing and disappearing into the back room again.

He reappears a few minutes later with a refreshed smile and a reserve bottle with a label you remember quite well:

Émércher: Embrouiller l’espirit.

Then there’s a flash of memory. Arguing with Lucius in the West Wing. Undressing before him. Lucius kissing you for the first time. Hard and demanding, like a man starved.

Marcus’s attempted smile falters as he sets the bottle on the table.

“Are you not a fan of chardonnay?”

You shake your head, clearing your throat. “That’s not it.”

“Ah, okay.” He seems unsure of how to proceed, breaking a cracker into smaller pieces.

“It’s just….” You wince. “I’ve had it before?”

“Indeed?” He sets it aside, tilting his head. “Where?”

“The Manor.” You find yourself answering easily.

Then you realize the implication of your words. Oh dear. You shouldn’t have said that.

Marcus’s wicked, cad-like grin is back in full force. “I’m sensing a story here.”

You chuckle, downing the rest of your champagne. “Oh, no. It’s nothing really”

“No, no.” His eyes bore into yours. “Tell me. What’s the story with this wine?”

“Lucius and I had it over dinner.” You find yourself answering, “It made us get into quite the argument.”

What? No. You should have checked the labels of the wine more carefully. Why were you suddenly blabbing about this?

“An argument, is that all?” He laughs, but then you catch a flash of something menacing in his gaze. His eyes are dark, like a predator circling his prey.

You blink, and then it’s gone.

Maybe it’s only your imagination.

You clear your throat. “No.” You admit, willing yourself not to go further into detail. Keep it together.

“You must miss him,” He says, voice full of sympathy as he gives you a nod. “Don’t you?”

“I do.” You admit softly. “I…”

Bloody hell, now you’re admitting your darkest secret out loud. What on earth? You have no control. It’s like your mind doesn’t belong to you.

“Yes? Go on.” Marcus looks smug, and alarm bells are going off in your head.

“I…”

He holds eye contact as he leans forward, looking perfectly pleased. “Finish your sentence.”

“I miss him so much.” You swallow thickly.

He chuckles mirthlessly, eyes darting away and breaking the trance that you’re under.

You frown, a chill running down your spine. “Marcus…?”

“I had to know why you were really here.” He says, unapologetically. “Of course, if you had no feelings for Lucius, I would have shown you a good time. I do find you so… enticing, little muggleborn. Though, now I’m more interested in knowing what _exactly_ is going on between the two of you.”

You stand, feeling vulnerable. Unsteady. Could you apparate to the hotel? Doubtful. You’ve only had a couple of glasses of wine, but you feel heavily intoxicated. It’s hard to tell what time of day it is in this dark cellar and your sense of direction is all out of sorts.

More importantly, _where is your wand?_

“Please, take a seat. I apologize for not explaining properly.” He shrugs. “How terribly inhospitable of me. Oh well. Such cannot be helped sometimes. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

He puts on a falsely forlorn look before letting his mischievous grin slip through again.

“What is happening to me?”

The colors in the room appear sharper, but everything is a bit fuzzy.

His sly smirk stretches wider. “I may have added a drop of veritaserum in the champagne.”

“Why?” You whisper, now realizing the extent of just _how_ vulnerable you truly are.

His eyes, usually warm and friendly, suddenly appear colder. Alarm bells go off in your head. Lucius had warned you all along to stay away from this man, and yet here you were.

So foolish. So incredibly foolish.

“I need to know a few things, Miss Hyde.” He tells you softly, soothingly as he pets your hair. It does nothing to comfort you. “I assure you my intentions are honorable. At least, in my own eyes. See, I have a plan. And it wouldn’t do to have you messing it up.”

His voice gets colder and colder as he speaks.

You gulp, eyes darting to the door. Where is your wand?

Marcus lifts it from his side. A slide of hand. A nonverbal spell. Whatever it was, he had it. Your wand was out of reach. You were trapped.

“Please, just let me go.” You plead. “Isn’t this illegal?”

“After you answer, and you listen to my offer, you can go.” He nods. “Though, please, Estella, calm down. I will not harm you. If what I believe is true, I am your ally. And unfortunately for you, I am permitted to use potions as I see fit on my own estate, especially in context of the winery. Apart from that, I am also a man of noble birth. The rules can be…. _bent_ in my favor from time to time. So you see, it will be much easier if you just comply. ”

You nod slowly. The sooner you answer, the sooner this is over. But as soon as you have your wand back, you’ll be hexing him to the full extent of your ability.

“I would have told you anything if you only had asked politely.”

He shakes his head. “But I _have_ asked, and you have simply evaded the question time and again. You will not today.”

You plead with him with your eyes.

He grins wickedly. “Do you… _love_ Lucius?”

You wince, fighting to keep your lips sealed, but your mouth speaks of its own accord.

“Yes.”

Your cheeks flush at the revelation, one you had denied to yourself so fiercely but could no longer ignore. Marcus grins victoriously.

“Very good. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You glare at him, and he leans back in his chair, relaxed and carefree as ever.

“Now, let’s continue.” He says, pouring himself another glass and taking a sip. “Does Lucius plan to leave Narcissa for you before or after the wedding?”

You feel tears prick at your eyes as your body speaks against your will. “No.”

His head tilts as he studies you.

“Will he keep you as a mistress, then?”

“Never.” You tell him.

His eyes light with victory. “Very good.”

He seems much more relaxed, though you don’t understand why.

“Can I have my wand now?”

“Just... one more question.” He says.

“Has Lucius made any recent attempts to catch myself and Narcissa together in some plot to call off the wedding and put the blame on Narcissa?”

Your brows furrow. “No?”

He narrows his eyes, studying your eyes intently. “Perhaps he has, but has not told you?”

“I don’t think so.” You reply, angered and saddened by the insinuation that Lucius would be plotting so greatly just to end up with a lowly muggleborn. He wanted Narcissa and you both needed to accept it. “Lucius did kiss Narcissa when she came by again, after all. They seemed quite cozy.”

It makes you sick, but you say it anyway, it’s what little control over the truth you had. Marcus deserved to suffer too, and if he was holding on to Narcissa, he deserved to know about the kiss.

“Did they?” Marcus growls, sounding threatening. You shiver.

You’re compelled to answer the rhetorical question from the potion. The force is weakening. A short burst of the magic now fizzling and fading away.

“Yes, they did.” You smirk. “She was sitting on his lap. They were making out by the fireplace in his office.”

It was hardly making out, but Marcus doesn’t need to know that.

“When?”

You relish the venom in his voice. You’re gaining control again.

“You said that was the last question.” You shrug, holding a hand out for your wand.

He shakes his head. “Answer. When?”

“Two weeks ago.”

He laughs dryly. “So now he wants her?”

You shrug. “I guess so.”

He studies you for a long moment, face falling a bit. He looks disappointed. Angry. Sad.

And you? You’re ready to strangle him for drugging you.

“Give me my wand now and I won’t tell him about this.” You say, putting on a composed face.

Acting hysterical will get you nowhere. Your best chance is to get your wand, attack him, and get out of here.

“If I do that, you will hex me.” He says, rolling his eyes. “Please, give me some credit. I am no masochist. When you’ve calmed down you can go. I won’t have you attacking me in my own home.”

You are on your feet in a flash. In two steps you’re in front of him and swinging your entire body weight back to slam your fist forward into his face.

“I don’t need my wand to make you feel pain, Marcus.” You smirk as he takes the hit and his chair falls back. He lies, sprawled on the floor, clutching his eye with a shocked expression. “This ‘little muggleborn’ grew up with two older brothers.”

You kick him in the stomach next, and he grunts, coughing hard. He drops his wand and yours as you kick him harder in the crotch.

You snatch them up, and draw yours against him.

A shudder of pleasure rolls through you as you run through the options. Should you maim him? Or perhaps just cause him the worst pain of his miserable life. If only there were a torture curse. You would gladly use it against him.

“I must say,” He wheezes. “I don’t think you have it in you to truly hex me, now do you?”

You huff with a sigh of disappointment. “Everyone underestimates a Hufflepuff.”

“A huffle- _what_? WAIT!” He holds up a hand, coughing as he rolls into a fetal position as you kick him again. “Please! Don’t you want to know my plan?”

You’re leaning towards maiming. Permanently maiming this bastard sounds wonderful. Perhaps you’ll begin with his hair. How will he look permanently bald?

“No I don’t.” You smirk. “Now stay still, this may hurt a little.”

You hardly recognize the manic grin of your reflection in the glass of the wine cases across from you as you raise your wand and point it at his forehead. Silently, you cast a spell to glue his knees to the floor in case he tries anything funny.

“I will get them to call off the wedding.” He grunts breathlessly. “I know, you don’t trust me, but it’s the truth. I love Narcissa and you love Lucius. Together, we can stop them.”

The brief swell of hope that rises and swiftly deflates inside of you at the idea of the wedding being called off is enough to clear your head. Because it’s a fantasy. Just like your petty revenge. If you attack Marcus, a viscount, in a foreign country, you will undoubtedly go to Azkaban. You’re just a lowly mudblood with no one looking out for you in the ministry or Wizengamot. You step backwards, shaking your head.

“It’s out of our control, Marcus. They won’t call it off.”

“Not yet-”

“IT’S DONE. OKAY? THEY AREN’T CALLING IT OFF.” You find yourself winded by your explosion. You take shallow breaths, enraged by his audacity to plead with you this way.

Marcus shakes his head desperately. “Just listen-”

“No _you_ listen.” You spit. “Do you honestly believe that they care about anything other than themselves? We are only distractions to them. They don’t want us the way we want them.

“But they will.”

You laugh humorlessly. Marcus looks as helpless as you feel, but you aren’t pathetic like he is. You won’t fight for someone who doesn’t want you enough to choose you.

“Give it up.” You tell him. “I have.”

“But I have a plan.”

“You’ll do it on your own, then.”

“I need your help.”

“And why should I help you?”

“Do you not want to be with him?”

“Not enough to embarrass myself with a sordid scheme.”

You shove your wand back to his forehead and he whimpers.

“Please, I beg you. Without her I am nothing. I have loved her since we were children.”

“No, without your fancy hair and your parent’s money you are nothing.” You tell him, and it feels good to say.

But before you can hex his face beyond recognition he speaks to your darkest desire in a soft voice, just above a whisper.

“Then let us make them suffer. Let us make them burn with jealousy until they loathe themselves.”

You imagine Lucius, dark eyes boring into yours like he did when he kissed you after finding you and Marcus alone in the library. Jealousy had been his motivation then.

It wouldn’t be enough to call off the wedding, his duty to his father. But it would be your preferred way to say goodbye. To make him feel the despair and anguish you’ve felt for weeks.

Perhaps the plan wasn’t entirely awful. Perhaps you can make him feel even an ounce of the pain he’s caused you.

Sure, he’s been sweet in the past week, but you remain a woman scorned. It will hurt to see his wedding in the paper, and so he deserves all the suffering he can get. Even if you do love him.

You close your eyes for a moment, exhaling. Then you meet Marcus’s gaze dead on.

“And what if it doesn’t work?”

“It will.” He pleads, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead.

You consider his words, before nodding.

“Fine. I’m in. But I have no plot to steal Lucius. If he wanted me, he would choose me. I want him to suffer for the pain he’s caused me, and _that’s all._ ”

“Sure.” He smirks sardonically. “If you say so.”

You smirk mockingly back at him.

And then you hex him so that every movement he attempts is backwards, like moving in a mirror he can’t see. A hex that you don’t even know the countercurse to. You throw his wand out of reach. And then you turn your back to leave him with a small wave.

“Do keep in touch.” You call over your shoulder as you make your way to the exit.

“Wait! I am still stuck.” He calls out. “Remove the jinx. Please. No one comes down here. I won’t be found until the morning, if not next week. I could die!”

“How terrible that will be.” You tell him, bored.

He whimpers. He actually _whimpers_ and you’re not sure if you recognize yourself anymore.

At the door, you send him a triumphant grin. Bet he’d think twice before underestimating anyone like you again.

“I look forward to hearing from you.” You say, winking. “If you do end up making it out of here alive, that is... if so, I will see you soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackles in author*
> 
> y'all didn't think I was going to have estella be swept off her feet by a letter and a cinnamon bun, did you? Sweet as he's been, it's gonna be Luci suffering a bit more, _then_ the happy ending. 
> 
> love you guys, and can't wait to respond to comments but I'm still sick. still sleepy. take care of yourselves and get some sunshine if you can! <3


End file.
